


To him I just can't be true

by eden22



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Breakups, Character Study, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: Bitty can't do this anymore.





	1. Our love, his trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title and chapter titles are all bits of lyrics from [Rihanna's Unfaithful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rp4UwPZfRis).

_In the beginning, there were two boys in love._

 

When Jack kissed Bitty, it hadn’t felt real. 

Sure, there was the warmth of Jack’s lips against his own, the strength of his hand as it gripped his waist, the smell of sweat and dust, the distant shouts of students filtering through the open window. All of the little, intrusive bits of reality that tied Bitty to the truth of that day, of the heartbreak and loneliness and happiness that had been tangled inside him since he had woken up. He could hear Beyoncé’s voice emitting tinnelly out of the headphones still clenched in his fist, telling him he was her saving grace. Jack tasted like sunlight felt, like mint and a little bit of coffee and the muffins that Bitty had fed them all at breakfast. His lips were soft but the way that they pressed against Bitty’s was hard, insistent, like he was trying to say everything, explain everything, through that action rather than words. 

But it still hadn’t felt real, not after all the time Bitty had spent thinking that Jack was unattainable, straight and uninterested. To have the man he had been chasing after and trying not to chase after for almost a year suddenly kiss him was… overwhelming. Strange. Surreal. And then Jack was gone, just as suddenly as he had arrived, telling Bitty he would text him and then disappearing in a swirl of black robes. Bitty stood in the sunlit room filled with boxes and pressed his fingers to his lips and wondered if that had really just happened. _Pray it won’t fade away_ , his headphones said, and Bitty did.

It took a while for Bitty to adjust to the idea, to the texts that Jack sent him, suddenly filled with adorable, awkwardly placed heart emojis. They spoke on Skype as well, Jack telling Bitty all about his training, showing him around his new place in Providence via webcam. Bitty told him in turn about the newest scandals in The Great Bittle-Phelps Jam Feud, the ridiculous antics of the kids at his camp, and the way that Georgia was becoming less familiar to him every year. They Skyped one day while Bitty was sitting in the shade of his back porch drinking sweet tea and wearing his favourite red shorts. Jack, blush staining his cheeks, told him about missing a step on the Haus porch the first time he saw Bitty wearing them. Bitty laughs, feeling his own cheeks heat as he confesses to all the times he had to stop himself from staring at the legendary Zimmermann ass. 

He thinks that that was when it began to feel real, that he and Jack were actually doing this, that Jack not only wasn’t straight, but returned Bitty’s feelings. When Jack came down for the fourth of July at the Bittles, that was when it finally sunk in completely. When Jack whispered in his ear, hand skimming his back just out of sight of Bitty’s parents. Bitty got caught up in staring at him, like he was trying to hoard away all these images of Jack, all these reminders that Jack wanted him back. He watched him as they walked to the store, watched the way the hot summer sunlight caught the edges of Jack’s sunglasses, warmed his skin, the way Jack smiled at him when he caught him looking. Jack kissed him on the back porch with Bitty’s parents and his Moomaw in the kitchen cooking dinner, and Bitty felt like he could burst apart at the seams with all the happiness inside of him. 

The night of the fourth he told his parents he was going to take Jack to the park to watch the fireworks. Instead he herded him into Coach’s truck, drove out the back country roads that no one came down. Well, some kids came down here, for parties and to smoke pot and for other purposes that Bitty had never gotten to experience. They passed a couple of other vehicles, parked in empty fields, before Bitty finally found one far enough away from them all that he could feel safe pulling into the tall grass and shutting off the truck. The sound of the engine clicking as it cooled down and crickets chirping were lound in the silence, the crunch of grass beneath their feet as they climbed out of the cab, Jack carrying the blankets that Bitty had stashed in the truck earlier that day. They clambered up into the back, or at least Bitty did, Jack chirping him as he swung himself up with ease. 

Bitty thought he would be more awkward, more nervous, but Jack made it all so easy, with his slow, sweet smile that so few other people got to see. The heat in his eyes as Bitty took off his shirt, the reverent way he trailed his fingers down Bitty’s chest, his sides, the way he pressed his lips against Bitty’s, soft and then harder, hotter, all of that sent sparks shooting inside Bitty’s chest. When Jack finally took off his own shirt Bitty couldn’t help but suck in a sharp, surprise breath, softly stroking his fingers down perfect abs, finally allowed to stare the way he had wanted to at every practice, at every chance encounter in the hallway on the way back from the shower. 

When Jack puts Bitty on his back and tugs off his jeans, Bitty would say he couldn’t believe it, that it felt unreal, but there was no denying the way Jack pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to the backs of Bitty’s knees, the way he kissed up his thighs until he was tugging down Bitty’s briefs as well. Bitty had decided that he wasn’t going to have sex tonight, had stared at himself in the bathroom room that afternoon and sternly told himself that he was not going to lose his virginity in the back of pickup truck on the fourth of July like the punchline to every bad country song ever. 

At that moment though, he wasn’t thinking about the cliche he was living out, wasn’t thinking about anything other than the hot sweep of Jack’s tongue into his mouth, the way he could feel sweat beading at the base of his spine. When he pushed Jack’s jeans off, shoved his boxers down his legs to the sound of Jack’s low laughter, he wasn’t thinking of anything other than the way Jack’s cock curved up towards his stomach, the way the moonlight caught on the moisture beaded at the end of his dick. He jumped when the first firework went off, yelping and sitting straight up in surprise. Jack’s eyes flew wide, equally started, jerking back to avoid Bitty’s head slamming into his chin. They stared at each other for a moment before Jack suddenly began to laugh, pressing Bitty back down with hot, biting kisses to his neck and shoulders. 

“Happy fourth of July,” he whispered. 

Jack had obviously had no such serious talk with himself that day as he scrambled through the pile of their clothing, finding his jeans and pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. The sight of them made Bitty swallow, throat clicking and suddenly dry. Flashes of fireworks lit up the sweat on Jack’s spine, on his shoulders and chest as he turned back to Bitty, as he leaned down and kissed the nerves right out of him. The press of Jack’s fingers inside him was at once familiar and strange, Jack’s fingers larger and rougher than his own, but so gentle inside of him as he soothed his other hand down Bitty’s stomach, pressing kisses to his face and muttering in his ear. Bitty wondered if Jack even realized he was speaking in Québécois. 

When Jack pushes inside Bitty chokes on an unexpected sob, and Jack freezes. Bitty swats at his shoulder, laughing and rubbing at the tears leaking from his eyes and telling him to keep going. 

“I just never… when I lived here, I was never sure I would survive long enough to have this. I sure didn’t think I’d get to have this here, in the back of a pickup truck on the fourth of July,” he admits with half of a laugh and Jack’s face goes soft. He kisses Bitty, slow and sweet and gentle, holding the sides of his face and wiping away Bitty’s tears with careful passes of the rough pads of this thumbs. Bitty sighs, and Jack presses the rest of the way inside. The fireworks have stopped by the time Bitty arches his back and comes with a shout, Jack’s hand around his dick and his face pressed against the side of Bitty’s neck, whispering words Bitty can’t understand into the skin hidden there. When Jack comes, the muscles in his back shudder and Bitty watches as his fingers clench in the blankets next to Bitty’s head. 

Three days later, Jack leaves Madison, and Bitty doesn’t see him in person again for two months. 

 

_/ \\_

 

Bitty knows that it can’t actually be cold, it’s still the last week of summer and New England or not, it is still summer in Providence. Still, he can’t help but shiver as he gets off the plane, the dry cool heat of the North a shock after spending the past few months marinating in the sticky heat of the South. Bitty looks around when he exits the secure area, grinning when he sees Jack waiting for him. Jack grins back and Bitty can see the light in his eyes from across the room. Still, Bitty holds himself back from running at him and hugging him. He knows he would have before, wouldn’t have thought anything of it and it shouldn’t be any different to do it now but… it feels different. He can feel each person in the terminal with them like an itch on his skin. No one is looking at him but they _could_ so Jack and Bitty greet each other with large smiles and awkward touches of hands to elbows and shoulders. Bitty wonders as they exit the airport if he should have attempted one of the bro-embraces that Ransom and Holster are so fond of. Jack politely helps Bitty carry his suitcase into the car and they chat about how Jack’s preseason conditioning is going as they drive back to Jack’s apartment, both of them carefully ignoring the tension strung between them. 

As soon as the door of the apartment is closed Jack’s on him, and Bitty gasps and smiles into the kiss as Jack grabs at him like he just can’t get enough, like he’ll die if he can’t have him. They have sex in the hallway, Bitty pressed against the wall, face scrunched up as he sobs for breath and desperately clutches at Jack’s shoulders. After, slumped on the floor in Jack’s lap, both of them breathing heavily, Bitty’s forehead pressed to Jack’s shoulder, Jack laughs. 

“Sorry,” he says, voice wry as Bitty looks up at him, lips twitching like he wants to smile but feels like he shouldn’t. 

“Darlin’,” Bitty drawls, suddenly very aware of how thick his accent is after a summer back home and an incredible orgasm, “you have absolutely _nothing_ to be sorry about.” Jack grins at him, and Bitty stands, reaching out a hand and helping Jack to his feet. “Now,” he says, “how about you show me inside the actual apartment and let me introduce myself properly to this kitchen that I’ve heard so much about.” 

When Bitty walks into the kitchen, he freezes. The window over the sink fills the whole place up with light and there are two ovens built into the cabinets, a huge range, and even bigger fridge. He feels himself light up inside at the sight of it, can’t stop himself from grinning up at Jack, pulling him down for a kiss. He’s pretty sure that Jack didn’t get this place, this kitchen, just for Bitty but Lord, the boy did buy him a stove for his birthday so he can’t help but feel as though at least part of it is for him. He begins to look around properly, chatting away to Jack about how he’ll stock Jack’s freezer up with baked goods while he’s here and oh, probably some pies for the team too, do you think the boys will like that, Jack? He gasps, though, when he opens the pantry and realizes that it has been stocked with every possible ingredient he could imagine, and when he opens the cupboards and drawers and finds what is possibly the entire contents of Williams Sonoma in them he rounds on Jack, incredulous. Jack gives him a sheepish look and a shrug. 

“I might have gotten a bit carried away?” He says, and Bitty strides across the kitchen, drops to his knees, and gives another man a blowjob for the first time in his life. He’s not sure how good he is at it, and he’s sure he looks a mess with spit dripping down his chin, but Jack’s knuckles are white where he’s gripping the counter and he groans when he comes, so Bitty figures he can’t have done that bad a job. Bitty swallows some of it, mostly by accident, then stands up and spits the rest into the sink, running the tap and watching as the water washes it down, eyes wide. He can’t believe he just did that, but when Jack wraps his arms around him and kisses the side of his neck, he knows he doesn’t regret it, not a single bit. 

“Is that what I’ll get everytime I buy you something new for baking with?” Jack asks, and Bitty laughs, spinning in the circle of his arms to give him a kiss. 

“Sweetheart, you got me a KitchenAid stand mixer,” he says, “You can get anything you’d like from me for that.” Jack grins, quick and easy and Bitty feels something inside of him light up at the sight of it. 

“Who knew you were so easy for baking supplies,” he says, and Bitty smacks him in the arm for his cheek. The affronted expression he puts on is slightly ruined by the fact that he can’t stop smiling, but it doesn’t matter because Jack is grinning down at him and the kitchen is warm and filled with light.

 

_/ \\_

 

Jack surprises Bitty by calling him the afternoon of October 31st. Jack is about to get on a plane to fly back to Providence from Florida, where he’ll be playing the following night, and Bitty thought he’d be too busy getting ready to call him. When the phone rings from the nightstand, the opening tones of ‘Halo’ competing with the buzz of it vibrating against the wood, Bitty grins and jumps across the room to answer it. 

“Hey hon,” he says, “I thought you’d be busy packing?”

“I am,” Jack’s voice comes down the line warm and rich, and Bitty feels his smile grow. “But I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Awww,” Bitty says, picking Senõr Bun and playing with his ears, smile turning small and happy as Jack asks Bitty about his day. Bitty tells Jack all about the boy’s Halloween plans for the Haus, about Ransom and Holsters rather elaborate outline for the evening.

“Of course, all of that will fall apart after the first kegstand,” Bitty says, rolling his eyes. Jack laughs, but Bitty can tell it’s a bit off. 

“Is everything okay honey?” He asks, and he can hear Jack sigh down the line. 

“Yeah,” he says, but Bitty has become familiar with the way Jack’s voice sounds when it twists around the curves of a lie, especially when he says he’s okay. Bitty frowns. 

“Are you sure?” He asks. 

“Yes!” Jack almost snaps, and Bitty pulls the phone away in surprise, putting it back just in time to hear Jack sigh again, and apologize. “Sorry,” he says, voice soft, “sorry it’s just… I miss you, and hearing about how everything is just moving on there without me, it’s...” He trails off. Oh, Bitty thinks, face falling. 

“We’re not moving on without you darlin’,” he says softly. “We’re just… continuing.” There’s a long pause, and Bitty waits for Jack to speak, biting at his lip. 

“You’re right,” he says finally, and god Bitty wishes he could see his face. “Anyways,” Jack continues, “I’ve got to head to the airport now.” Bitty bites his lip again, picking up Senõr Bun and tucking him into his arm. 

“Okay, have a safe flight,” Bitty says, voice soft but trying his best to keep it upbeat, “I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” He hesitates. “You still coming to pick me up?” There’s a pause that makes Bitty’s chest hurt, but then Jack’s voice finally comes, soft and crackling slight across the connection. 

“Yeah, of course Bits. I can’t wait to see you.” Bitty smiles. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

The conversation turns around Bitty’s head the entire day, running over the words he said, the words he could have said instead, the words Jack said. Other than Ransom up in the attic studying, the Haus is empty, giving Bitty plenty of space to obsessively run in circles over and over again while he bakes pie after pie. Eventually, inevitably, the peace of the Haus is shattered by Holster and Lardo bursting in the front door, a keg under each of Holster’s large arms. Bitty takes the distraction happily, shoving the earlier conversation with his boyfriend to the back of his head, letting himself get swept up in the excited planning of his friends. 

By the time he’s pulling on his rabbit halloween costume he’s all but forgotten about his earlier worry. He sends Jack a snap of him in his costume, looking over his shoulder in the mirror. He captions it ‘puck bunny’ with a winky face, sends it, and then heads downstairs. Lardo bursts into laughter when she sees him, and Holster and Ransom’s faces both light up with joy. 

“Bro,” Holster says, offering his fist to Ransom. 

“Bro,” Ransom says, tapping his fist to Holster’s without looking. 

“We are so getting you laid tonight Bits,” Holster says, and Bitty is proud of himself for not letting his smile falter at all. 

“Gosh boys, I’m not looking for that tonight, I just want to have fun hanging out with y’all.” Holster opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but Ransom nudges him and he just smiles at Bitty instead. 

“Fair enough bro,” Ransom says casually, and Bitty smiles at both of them, clapping his hands together. 

“Now,” he says, “where are y’all’s costumes?”

When he wakes up the next morning his mouth is tacky and still tastes like booze. There’s an uncomfortable bunching of the sheets right under his tailbone, but when he reaches under him to tug them straight, he realizes that it’s actually the tail of his bunny costume. Sitting up, he acknowledges that he actually slept in the thing, which is looking significantly rougher than it was the night before. He allows himself a minute to just sit there and feel awful before beginning to search for his phone. He finally finds it under his bed, battery completely drained. He plugs it in and sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes as he waits for it to turn back on. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, looking towards his phone as it chimes. And then chimes again. And again. “Fuck!” He says again, much louder, launching himself up off the bed. He has two missed calls from Jack, 56 unread messages in the group chat, and Jack is supposed to be there in ten minutes to pick him up. He continues to chant _fuck_ under his breath as he shoves all of his stuff into a gym bag. He gets halfway down the stairs before he realizes that he’s still wearing his Halloween costume. He says a couple choice phrases that Lardo taught him as he drops his bag on the stairs and runs back upstairs, throwing on the first two things he sees, which ends up being a pair of shorts and one of Jack’s jerseys. He tumbles back down the stairs, scooping up his bag and sparing a brief, regretful thought for the fact that he was leaving the Haus in a mess before slamming out the front door. 

He stands, breathing heavily in the cool fall air, scanning the street, but there’s no sign of Jack’s black SUV. He takes a couple steps forward, leaves crunching under his undone sneakers, a beer bottle rattling and rolling across the porch when his toe taps against it. He glances down at his phone, only charged to two percent in the brief second he had it plugged in, and thumbs to call Jack, praying that the charge lasts. As it rings and rings, he feels a sinking sensation in his stomach. When it clicks over to Jack’s voicemail, he heads back inside, plugging it back in in the kitchen where he can keep an eye on the street through the window. He hesitates, then taps the voicemail button.

“Hey Bitty,” Jack’s voice sounds tired and scratchy in the recording, “I’m really sorry about this, but Snowy is sick and they need someone to do this thing for Falcs TV this afternoon. I tried talking to Georgia, but… I can’t get out of it. I’m sorry babe. I’ll call you again later. Hope you had a good Halloween, I liked your costume.” There’s a long pause, and Bitty thinks that Jack had hung up, but then, “I love you.” There’s a click and then the woman tells him he has no other new voicemails. Bitty thumbs the end call button, setting the phone on the countertop while staring out of the window. 

He knew that things like this were inevitable, that Jack couldn’t exactly explain to the Falconers management that he couldn’t do whatever they were asking of him because he had to go pick up his boyfriend. But knowing it and experiencing it were two very different things, and Bitty felt a wave of nausea hit him that was only partly his hangover. It wasn’t fair to Jack to feel this way, Bitty reminded himself sternly. He had worked so, _so_ hard to get where he was, and even if they were out, his job still involved a lot of travel and commitments to promoting the team. He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. He was being silly, that was all. There was no reason for him to be upset. Picking up his bag, he took it back up to his room, not bothering to unpack it before heading back downstairs. 

If he was going to be home, he might as well clean up after the party. 

They watched the game in the living room that night, as they had most of Jack’s games that season. All of the house’s inhabitants, as well as Nursey, Dex, and a couple of the frogs, were crowded around the television, shoved into the couch and chairs. Bitty took his usual seat, side-eyeing the couch. If he could lift it by himself it would already be on the curb, but alas, he could not. However, what he did have was a plan to trick one of the frogs into helping him take it outside for dibs. He was just biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity. Holster turned to look at him like he could hear Bitty’s thoughts, and spun his head back towards the TV so fast it made his head hurt. He tried to look as innocent as possible and not like someone contemplating couch-icide as he stared determinedly at the ad for Mitsubishi that was playing. 

When the pre-game show finally started, Ransom loudly hushed everyone, which just set them off again. The boys were fighting and laughing. Bitty heard Dex shout something at Nursey, but he couldn’t stop looking at the screen long enough to find out what was happening. 

On screen Jack was smiling as he and Tater walked around a barren garden with two elderly men, probably vets. Bitty couldn’t hear what they were saying but he could see the way Jack’s eyes crinkled up in the corner as he talked with the two men. One of them pointed towards the young nurse who was accompanying them, and both Tater and the men laughed as Jack blushed. Bitty feels like he’s going to vomit as he watches the nurse place her hand on Jack’s arm, laughing. He turns away, blinking hard and reminding himself that he’s being ridiculous. By the time he turns back to the screen Jack, Tater, and the beautiful nurse have been replaced with the aging face of Don Cherry (because as Jack, and now Ransom, insisted it didn’t count as watching hockey unless it was Hockey Night in Canada). Chowder points at the screen, smacking Dex on the arm in excitement, and they all settle down to watch the game. 

Bitty pulls out his phone and texts ‘good luck sweetheart’ with a kissing emoji, and then tucks it away to watch the game. It’s not quite the same without Shitty’s screaming, R-rated commentary, but between all of them it’s not any quieter. In the second period the commentators make a snide remark about Jack’s ‘history with addiction’ and Chowder pulls out his laptop and begins to narrate aloud as he writes an angry Facebook post. Bitty smiles, warmth filling his chest at the loyalty of these boys, and he pulls his phone out again to begin to tweet about the game. He firmly pushes the thought that he was supposed to be in the arena watching the game in person out of his mind. Things like this are going to happen, he reminds himself, and he has to learn how to deal with them. It’s just part of being Jack’s boyfriend and Lord, he thinks as he watches Jack slam it into the back of the net just between the goalie’s legs, he does love that boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a good explanation for this other than I wanted to write a what-if of Jack and Bitty's relationship if each of them were just a little bit less good at communicating.


	2. This is more than love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the use of a homophobic slur and references to transphobic politics.

It’s just after Christmas break when Ransom sits down at the kitchen table while Bitty’s rolling out pastry and singing along to Broken-Hearted Girl. Bitty smiles at his friend, telling him that there’ll be pie in an hour or two if he wants. Ransom smiles back at him but doesn’t say anything and soon Bitty all but forgets that he’s there, wraps himself back up in the familiar soothing feeling of forming a pie crust. He falls in and out of singing along with the music as he works, humming in between as he sways slightly. Outside the window the campus is coated with snow and from the safety and warmth of his kitchen Bitty can’t help but find it incredibly beautiful. It is cold and bright and there is a misshapen snowman in front of the LAX house. The black shapes of ravens wheeling across the sky are the only thing moving out in the freezing morning air, spinning in drafts far above them. 

The music and the peaceful presence of Ransom carries him through blind baking the crust, making the filling, and putting the pie into the oven for a final bake. He gestures to the Keurig that Lardo’s parents had bought her for Christmas, and at Ransom’s nod, makes two cups of caramel coffee. He brings the mugs over to the table and sits down across from Ransom. He wraps his hands around the mug, looking towards the window. He smiles, then turns and blows on his coffee, Ransom doing the same. They both take a sip, Bitty sighing in satisfaction, before Ransom finally speaks.

“Bits,” he says, playing with his mug, turning it on the table and not meeting Bitty’s eyes, “I need to… I mean, Holster and I talked and… I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable okay?” He finally looks up at Bitty and Bitty nods hesitantly, stomach clenching in nerves. 

“I don’t mean to pry Bits, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I’m your captain and your friend and… look man, are you okay?” Bitty feels his spine stiffen, straightening him out of his relaxed slouch, but he can’t do anything about it. Ransom sighs, looking away. When Bitty doesn’t say anything, Ransom looks back at him, a slight frown creasing the skin between his brows. 

“It’s just… you’ve been listening to sad music way more than you used to, you’re really… like, I’m not looking to accuse you or anything man but we know you’ve been lying to us about like, where you go and stuff. You disappear for days, you have these phone calls where you hang up as soon as you see that someone is listening.” He pauses, seeming to gauge the look on Bitty’s face. Bitty has no idea _what_ his face is doing because it feels a bit numb, but apparently it’s something that doesn’t tell Ransom to continue. 

“Look bro, you don’t have to talk to me, you don’t have to tell me fuckin’ anything you don’t want to okay? But like, talk to someone eh? Whatever it is, you shouldn’t have to deal with it alone.” He waits a moment to see if Bitty will reply, but when Bitty doesn’t say anything, just stares at a point just off of Ransom’s shoulder, the other man sighs again and stands up, taking his mug with him. He pauses, but seems to decide to drop it for now, rapping his knuckles against the table before leaving the room. 

It takes a long minute after he leaves before Bitty can manage to relax his body out of the tense position it had taken as Ransom had spoken. He swiped at his eyes, annoyed. What did Ransom know, anyways? Bitty was happy. Sure, he had a day or two where he was a bit less happy, when the weight of the secret he was carrying seemed like it was so heavy he couldn’t breath. But it was worth it. _Jack_ was worth it. And really, what were a few bad days to how happy Jack made him, to the way he feels when Jack whispers ‘I love you’ into Bitty’s ear, to how Jack looks at him, dancing around Jack’s kitchen making pancakes in his underwear on lazy Saturday mornings.

The next day, sitting in the passenger seat of Jack’s SUV, Bitty was reminded of exactly why it was worth it. Why all of the struggle, all of the difficulties of a long distance relationship, of hiding it from everyone, was worth it. The day was overcast and cloudy but the way Jack smiled when he looked at Bitty more than made up for it. Being around him made something light up inside Bitty and he sometimes felt like he could survive on that feeling alone, on the fizzing warmth that filled his veins when Jack took his hand off of the gear shift to grip Bitty’s thigh. The drive to Providence wasn’t long, but it felt like forever with the heavy heat of Jack’s palm pressing down on Bitty’s leg, with the small smiles Jack kept shooting his way. 

Bitty tried his best to distract himself, complaining about the fact that Jack didn’t have an aux cord (again). Jack pretended not to know what an aux cord was (again). Bitty reminded him that he wasn’t as funny as he thought he was (again). Jack grinned at him in response, and Bitty spent the rest of the drive switching between radio stations and then muting them altogether in favour of playing something on his phone. Jack also pretended not to know who anyone was, and Bitty laughed as Jack made more and more bizarre guesses at which artist performs ‘Bitch Better Have My Money’. 

They hadn’t fucked against the door since the first time they had reunited the previous fall, but it still never takes long for them to lose all their clothes once they’re safe inside the sanctity of Jack’s apartment. Jack checks that the window blinds are pulled tight in a way that only makes Bitty’s stomach hurt a little bit, and then he strides across the room, taking Bitty’s face in his hands and biting and licking his way into his mouth. They make it as far as the living room this time, where Jack bends Bitty over the arm of the couch and fucks him until Bitty sees stars. 

Bitty tugs his jeans back up and clears his throat awkwardly, making Jack, leaning against the short wall between the living room and the kitchen, bangs dark with sweat, laugh. Bitty rolls his eyes at him before heading into the kitchen. Jack watches as Bitty washes his hands before making Jack’s traditional pre-game PB&J. Bitty grabs a sticky note off the stack, but makes Jack close his eyes so he can’t see what he writes on it. Jack shakes his head and chirps Bitty, but he does it anyways, and Bitty can’t believe that Jack has let Bitty into his pre-game ritual in this way. Sandwich ready, they head to the bedroom, where Bitty finally manages to get both of them naked. When Bitty reaches for Jack’s hip though, Jack pulls back. 

“Gotta save my energy for tonight,” he says, laughing and Bitty laughs as well. 

“Sorry,” he says with an embarrassed smile. “Cuddle instead?” he asks, and Jack smiles at him fondly. 

“Cuddle instead,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s forehead before folding the smaller man into his arms. Jack nuzzles into the side of Bitty’s neck. “S’time for my nap,” he says, “I’m gonna…” Bitty yawns. 

“Yeah,” he says, and Jack sighs, breaths quickly evening out after that. They lay there, Bitty dozing while Jack naps.

When Jack’s alarm goes off he climbs out of bed to head to the bathroom and get ready. Bitty stays lying in the bed, enjoying the feeling of a real mattress under his back, not like that poor destroyed thing he sleeps on in the Haus. Rolling over, he pulls out his phone and is scrolling through his twitter feed when he hears Jack walk back into the room. He can feel his eyes on him, and he looks over his shoulder to see Jack staring at him, face unreadable, shirt half buttoned and an undone tie draped loosely around his neck. 

“What?” Bitty asks, feeling a stab of self-consciousness at his boyfriend’s close scrutiny. Jack steps closer without replying, bending over and pressing a kiss to the bare, freckled skin of Bitty’s shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says, voice rough, and Bitty flushes. “I have to go,” he continues, “I’m giving Tater a ride so you’ll have to get to the rink on your own okay? You’ve got my uber login on your phone right?” Bitty nods, then sits up. 

“Kiss for luck?” He says, and he is helpless in the face of Jack’s grin. The kiss is soft and sweet until it isn’t, and Jack bites Bitty’s lip before he pulls away. 

“See you after the game,” he says, and then he’s gone. 

Bitty excitedly talks off the ear of the poor man who drives him to the rink, since he can’t tweet about being there. He’d told the guys he was going to Boston for the weekend to meet up with some other YouTubers, and he firmly pushes down the faint pang of guilt he feels when he thinks about how often he’s had to lie to his friends in the past year. It isn’t like he’s lying to be cruel, he tells himself. He isn’t a bad person, he’s just protecting his boyfriend, who he loves and supports, and who needs to keep this a secret, for now, for his career. 

When they arrive at the Falconer’s home ice, Bitty is glad for the privilege of the special VIP passes Jack gets for him, as they allow him to bypass the massive press of people at the main entrance. He makes his way to his seat, near the ice (but not too near, because Lord knows everyone they’ve ever met watches every one of Jack’s games and they do not want one of them to pick Bitty out of the crowd). Though he’s alone, the young women in the seats next to him seem happy to discuss player’s statistics and predictions for how the rest of the season will play out. They’re both wearing Zimmermann jerseys, and Bitty has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning at the sight. He does get them to take a selfie with him, also wearing his Zimmermann jersey, to show Jack later. By the time the game starts they are following each other on twitter and Bitty is relieved that he won’t have to spend the game celebrating the goals and mourning the losses alone. 

Bitty has yelled himself near hoarse by the time the final buzzer sounds. They won the game, and he leaves the rink riding high on the rush of adrenaline, grinning. He hits the button on his phone to call the uber, and doesn’t have to wait long before he’s again sliding into a stranger's car. He has a brief pang at the thought that he can’t go back into the players section like the WAGs can, can’t see his boyfriend after the game until he gets back home as well. He pushes those thoughts away though. No point dwelling on what he can’t have after all, and besides, he still got to see Jack play in person, and Jack will be coming home to him soon enough. And they have the entire next day together before Jack needs to drive Bitty back to Samwell in time for his Monday morning classes. 

The apartment is quiet when Bitty arrives, so he plugs his phone into the very nice sound system Jack has set up in the kitchen and hits play on his favourite baking playlist. He’s crouched in front of the bottom oven, watching a strawberry-rhubarb pie as it turns a beautiful golden brown, when he hears the front door click open. Shoving to his feet and quickly brushing his hands off against his apron, he runs across the kitchen to the hallway, grabbing the wall to spin himself around the corner and grinning when he sees Jack waiting for him. Taking a running jump, Bitty throws himself into Jack’s arms, Jack laughing as he spins Bitty around. 

“Good game sweetheart,” Bitty says, peppering Jack’s laughing face with kisses. 

“Thanks,” Jack says, pretending to be annoyed at all of Bitty’s kisses, but still not putting Bitty down. Bitty has his legs wrapped around Jack’s waist, fingers buried in his hair, and is determinedly licking into his mouth when he suddenly pulls back. 

“My pie!” He says, almost falling as he shoves out of Jack’s arms, Jack’s laughter following him as he sprints back to the kitchen, arriving just in time to spare his pie from becoming unbearably dry. Jack comes up behind him and wraps himself around Bitty, pushing his face into Bitty’s hair as he teases him for prioritizing pie over his boyfriend. Bitty swats him with a towel and can’t help but smile as Jack laughs at him, eyes crinkling. _I’m the only one who gets this,_ he thinks to himself. _They get every other part of him, but this belongs to me._

Later, pie saved and sleepy from a large dinner, Jack pushes Bitty down onto the couch before sinking to his knees in front of him. Bitty closes his eyes at the feeling of Jack pressing careful kisses across his stomach, rucking up his shirt before tugging down his pants. He kisses the head of Bitty’s dick through his shorts before pulling those down as well, Bitty lifting up his hips as Jack slides the fabric off. Bitty can’t help but bury his hands in Jack’s hair as Jack swallows him down, and the way Bitty pulls on Jack’s hair when he comes just makes Jack groan louder. Bitty tries to catch his breath while Jack presses kisses to Bitty’s hips, his thighs, his stomach. 

“I love you,” Jack whispers, over and over again. “I love you.” 

_/\\_

Jack misses graduation and their anniversary.

It wasn’t a surprise, they had both realized, months ago, writing out his schedule on Bitty’s calendar, when that four game roadie would fall. Still, as Bitty watched Ransom, Holster, and Lardo walk across the stage, he could feel Jack’s absence like a physical wound. He’s surprised by how hard it hits him, sitting in the crowd and blinking furiously. He refuses to let it affect how happy he is for his friends though, whooping and cheering as loud as he can as each of them cross the stage. Of course, Shitty manages to show him up by arriving late, before being escorted from the convocation hall halfway through Lardo’s walk across the stage for shouting some frankly shocking things – with Lardo laughing hysterically on the stage the whole time. 

After the ceremony, Bitty finds his friends, hugging them all in turn. Lardo pulls him into taking selfies with her before introducing him to her parents and her _terrifying_ bà ngoại who Bitty is immediately determined to befriend by the end of the day. He thinks he just might have succeeded, despite the language barrier, when he makes her laugh while telling her the story of the time Lardo had tried to help him make a dozen mini pies at 2am (leaving out, of course, how stoned she was at the time). She might be laughing as much at the way he’s waving his hands about as anything he’s saying, but he still beams at her until Lardo pulls him away, rolling her eyes. 

“You don’t have to befriend every old lady you see, you know,” she says, and Bitty’s mouth drops open in indignation. 

“I do _not_ try to befriend every-” he says, and Lardo laughs right over his protestations. 

“Whatever,” she says, “take a picture of Holster and Ransom holding me up.” Lardo shoves her phone into Bitty’s hands before scrambling atop Ransom and Holster’s shoulders. Bitty’s laughter ruins the first couple of photos he tries to take, but he manages to get a couple of good ones before Holster and Ransom exchange a glance and make a mad dash for the pond, threatening to throw her in. They hold her over the water, laughing as she shouts at them, until Holster slips and they actually drop her. 

Bitty also manages to get a couple of good ones of them running away, a soaking wet Lardo chasing after them and swearing loudly. 

Overall, it’s a wonderful day, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less when Bitty wakes up the next morning to the dead silence of the Haus and the awareness that all his friends from his first year on the team have graduated. Everyone who lived in the Haus before him is now gone. 

“Lord,” he says to himself, staring up at the ceiling in his room. “Am I the adult now?” 

The team had voted him Captain at the banquet, so he supposed that must be what that means. In that spirit, and with two days before Jack would arrive to pick him up for their summer together in Providence, he sets about giving the Haus a final good scrub before the summer. Chowder would be spending at least part of the summer there, as well as Dex, and Nursey was going to be there the whole time, but Lord knew their dear hearts couldn’t keep anything clean. Still, it couldn’t hurt to threaten them, and as Bitty scrubbed the bathroom floor, he practiced both his lecture and his scary face. He was pretty sure he’d got it down when he heard the front door open and Chowder’s voice as he came in.

Abandoning his cleaning, Bitty made him and Chowder dinner, and then they both settled in front of the television to watch the game. Bitty smiled fondly as Chowder relayed all of his and Farmer’s plans for the summer in between both of them shouting at the television. Jack got a hatty, and he waved at the cameras with a grin that Bitty couldn’t help but feel was just for him. 

“Oh!” Chowder said, “I forgot, you’re spending the summer with Jack aren’t you?” Bitty jumped, then made himself relax. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, “I got a summer job at a bakery in Providence so…” he trails off, shrugging. 

“That’s really cool!” Chowder enthuses. “It’s so cool that you’ll get to stay with Jack too, you’ll get a real look at what being in the NHL is like! You guys must be really good friends.” 

“Yeah,” Bitty said, turning away so that Chowder couldn’t see how tight his smile had become “he’s a great friend.”

It’s when he’s getting ready for bed that night that it hits him fully, and he sits down on the floor next to his bed, halfway through folding a shirt to cry. He presses his face into the fabric of the shirt and cries for how much things have just changed in his life. For his friends who are moving on without him, for how different his home will be next year without the familiar presence of Ransom and Holster in the attic. For the end of not just a year but an era for the Samwell Men’s Hockey team, for the expectations and legacy for him to live up to as Captain. For how much he misses his mama. For how much he misses Jack.

He also cries for how much things have stayed the same, for hiding and lying and being alone.

_/\\_

The Falconers manage to make it into the second round of the Stanley Cup playoffs before they’re knocked out by the Penguins. Bitty watches that game alone in the living room of Jack’s apartment. Alicia and Bob had offered to take him to Pittsburgh with them to watch the game. He’d turned them down, knowing there wasn’t any good explanation for why he, out of all of Jack’s friends, was there, that how obviously gay he was would always cast suspicion on Jack. He hadn’t bothered to explain any of that when he turned them down, making excuses about having to work at the bakery the next day and not being able to change his shift, while Jack watched on. Jack didn’t say anything, didn’t insist that Bitty come, and Bitty knew that he was thinking the same thing Bitty was. And even though it hurt that Jack wouldn’t argue for him being there at all, Bitty understood why it had to be this way. Still, as he sits in the empty apartment, watching his boyfriend’s shoulders slump as he skates off the ice, he can’t help but wish he had taken them up on it after all. 

More than anything in that moment, he wishes he could give Jack a hug, wrap that boy in his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay. That he had done his best, played his best, and that sometimes your best just wasn’t enough, that it didn’t make Jack any less of an amazing player. Instead he texts him a long string of ‘I love you’s and heart emojis, and watches, helpless, as Jack gives his post-game interviews, face tight as he speaks. 

“We played the best we could,” he says, “the whole team worked really hard this season and I’m proud of every single one of my teammates.” 

“What will your strategy be going into the off season?” A reporter asks.

“We’re going to really look at how we did this season and where we can improve, and work on how to improve that before the start of the next season.” Bitty’s heart twists at the look in Jack’s eyes as he nods tightly and leaves the press room. 

He doesn’t get any reply from Jack for the rest of the day, but Bitty wasn’t really expecting one. He’s familiar enough with Jack’s habits at this point to know that after a loss Jack doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not even his boyfriend. That he needs some time to process the loss, to work through everything he thinks he did wrong before letting go of it as much as he is able. It’ll be harder than usual this time, Bitty knows, thinking of their loss in the Frozen Four the previous year, because there isn’t a next game to look forward to. Jack’s instinct to immediately begin strategizing for how they will do better next time will get all twisted and tangled in the fact that there _isn’t_ a next time, at least not until the fall. 

He does finally get a text the next day, a simple ‘be home around one’ that makes Bitty’s heart warm even with its brevity. He touches the word ‘home’ on the screen of his phone, knowing that Jack isn’t really talking about his apartment, he’s talking about _Bitty_ , about the fact that Jack’s apartment is actually their apartment, at least for the summer. And after graduation, well… Bitty’s been trying not to let himself think that far ahead. 

When Jack arrives he drops his bag just inside the door, shoulders slumping with exhaustion as he leans back against the door. Bitty wraps his arms around him, squeezing tight until Jack raises his arms and wraps them around him just as tightly, burying his face in Bitty’s hair. Bitty shushes him gently as he rubs his hand up and down Jack’s spine, feeling the way he shakes slightly. 

“Are you okay darlin’?” Bitty pulls back slightly to ask. 

“Yeah,” Jack sighs, closing his eyes. “Just…” he trails off, and Bitty tugs at his hand, leading him into the living room and sitting him on the couch. 

“You just sit,” he orders, “and I’ll bring you some hot chocolate and a piece of pie.” 

“Bitty,” Jack protests mildly, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips and Bitty cheerfully ignores him as he walks back into the kitchen. Pouring milk into a pan on the stovetop, he breaks up some chocolate, dropping the chunks into the milk and whisking. He leaves it for a moment as he pulls the pie he had made that morning off the cooling rack, cutting and plating two pieces before turning back to the stove. He slowly and carefully heats the milk until it reaches the perfect temperature, pouring it into two mugs and topping it with whipped cream and, after a moment's hesitation, multicolour sprinkles, hoping they’ll make Jack smile. 

They do, Jack’s tired frown transforming into a small, but real smile as he looks at the mug Bitty puts into his hand. Bitty leaves and comes back with the pie, setting both slices on the table before he sits, hands twisting, uncertain of how to proceed now that he’s given Jack food. He watches Jack sip at his hot chocolate for a moment, nervously moving his own slice of pie around on his plate. 

“Want to watch a historically inaccurate movie so you can criticize everything wrong about it?” he finally blurts out, relieved when Jack smiles at him. 

“Sounds good,” he says, and laughs when Bitty scrolls through Netflix and selects Braveheart. Bitty curls up into Jack’s side, Jack’s arm wrapping around him as they settled into watching the movie. 

“Thank you,” Jack says softly, pressing his nose into Bitty’s hair. Bitty smiles as he keeps his eyes on the screen. 

“I love you,” he says, because he does and in that moment that’s all he can think about, how much he loves this sweet Canadian man. 

“I love you too,” Jack says. 

_/\\_ 

The first couple of weeks after the Falconers are pushed out of the playoffs are rough for both Jack and Bitty. Jack is obviously struggling during those weeks with the feelings of inadequacy that his anxiety disorder gives him. While he doesn’t talk to Bitty about it, at least not directly, it’s obvious in his actions. He oscillates between being silent and angry, spending long hours at the gym, and sitting at the kitchen table, looking sad and lost while he rewatches tape of that last game until Bitty decides he’s had enough and confiscates his laptop. Alicia and Bob visit for a bit, and that helps, but it still takes long weeks before Jack begins to respond to Bitty’s attempts to cheer him up with anything other than grudging happiness or sullen indifference. 

Things do get better though, and slowly and surely, as May turns into June, the mood in the apartment becomes more and more carefree and happy. One morning Bitty wakes up before Jack for once, and watches as he breathes, face smooth and peaceful in sleep. He feels so happy it’s almost overwhelming, and when Jack blinks slowly awake, mouth sliding into a lazy smile as he sees Bitty looking at him, he feels fit to burst. Instead, he leans in to capture Jack’s lips with his own, and they kiss slowly and sweetly until Bitty pulls away, making a face. 

“Morning breath,” he says, and Jack laughs, but climbs out of the bed after him, standing behind Bitty at the sink. They brush their teeth, smiling at each other in the mirror. Bitty feels like he’s being ridiculous, but then again so is Jack, and they laugh as they tumble back into bed together, Jack pressing himself up against Bitty and peppering kisses up and down his neck. Bitty sighs happily, stretching and leaning his head back to give Jack more space to move his kisses down Bitty’s neck to his shoulder. The drag of Jack’s stubble against his skin is far more pleasant than his playoff beard was, and Bitty relishes the sensation of the rough friction, knowing that it will disappear as soon as Jack gets up properly and shaves. 

Jack finally leaves off kissing Bitty’s shoulder in favour of returning his attention to Bitty’s mouth and they kiss slowly, lazily, but still with heat growing between them. Bitty moans as Jack nips at his bottom lip, chasing his lips when he pulls away, and Jack rolls over so that he’s propped up above Bitty, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of Bitty’s head. They stare at each other for a long moment, eyes flicking across each other’s faces as they take in every detail of the other. Bitty focuses on how blue Jack’s eyes are, the way they catch the light, before letting his eyes travel down, taking in the shadow of stubble across Jack’s jaw, the small scar on his chin where he took a puck earlier that year. When Jack finally ducks down to kiss Bitty again, Bitty arches up into it, wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders and holding on tight. Jack trails his fingers down Bitty’s stomach, gently tracing long, calloused fingers across Bitty’s cock before reaching behind it and pressing the pad of one finger against Bitty’s hole. Bitty breaks off the kiss long enough to gasp ‘yes’, before Jack is pulling away. Bitty groans in protest, pout turning back into a smile when Jack returns with a bottle of lube in his hands and a chirp on his lips. 

Jack takes his time opening Bitty up, long sure strokes of thick fingers inside of him, gently searching until he hits that spot inside Bitty that has him gasping, fingers clutching desperately at Jack’s shoulders. By the time he finally slides inside of Bitty, Bitty is desperate for it, but still Jack keeps his movements slow and sure. So often when they have had sex in the past year it has been frantic, both of them desperate for each other after long periods apart. Now, wrapped around each other in the sunlit bedroom of Jack’s apartment, they are able to go slow, the only sound their breaths as each of them gasp for air, kissing each other, deep and languid. Bitty’s legs wrap around Jack’s hips as the other man continues to move slowly in and out of him. When Bitty finally reaches down to wrap a hand around himself, he barely has to stroke himself before he is coming, his orgasm seeming to come in waves, drawn out and overwhelming. Jack only lasts a handful more thrusts before he too is coming, staring down at Bitty as he releases inside of him. 

“I love you,” Bitty whispers, raising a hand to brush sweat-dampened hair from Jack’s forehead. 

“I love you too,” Jack says, leaning down to press a final, sweet kiss to Bitty’s lips before rolling to the side, wrapping an arm around Bitty’s waist and pulling the smaller man to him. He buries his face in Bitty’s hair, and they spend a long moment in silence, breaths slowly evening out. “I wanted to win the cup so bad,” Jack says, and Bitty fights to stop himself from tensing up. Instead, he carefully doesn’t react, waiting for Jack to go on, to finally talk about this. After a several minutes of silence, Jack does. 

“It would have shown everyone that I’m better, that I’m not who I was at seventeen anymore. It would have proved to everyone that I was worth what the Falconers paid for me, that they hadn’t made a mistake by signing me.” Bitty makes a small noise of protestation, but doesn’t speak. 

“I thought…” Jack starts, then stops. When he speaks again, it is in a whisper. “I thought maybe, if I won, if I showed them all that I can play, that maybe… maybe I could come out.” Bitty sucks in a sharp, surprised breath, and Jack shifts slightly, pulling Bitty’s back tighter against his stomach. 

“I’m sorry Bits,” he says, and this time Bitty can’t stop himself from speaking. 

“Don’t apologise,” he says, voice quiet but fierce, putting all the force he can behind his words. “You played so well sweetheart, and everyone who matters understands that you are an amazing player. The commenters that are still questioning that are small, bitter people just looking for something they can turn into a story.” He turns in Jack’s arms, wanting to be looking at him for what he has to say next. Jack’s eyes are large and sad when he meets them, and Bitty’s hand rises to squeeze Jack’s arm. 

“You are an amazing player, you and your team played as well as you could. You might not have won the cup this year but you _will_ win it. And then you can come out, and no one will ever be able to question your ability to play hockey again.” Jack sucks in a sharp breath. 

“What if I don’t?” He asks, and Bitty pauses, confused.

“Don’t win? Sweetheart of course you’ll win the cup, it might-”

“No, not the cup,” Jack interrupts, “what if I don’t come out then? What if I’m still not… if my relationship with you overshadows everything that I’ve done, like my overdose _still_ does…” Jack trails off, and Bitty feels a sharp pain in his chest. He tells himself that Jack doesn’t mean it like that, that he doesn’t mean to say that Bitty is the same as his addiction, the same sort of dark, damaging secret. Jack didn’t actually think that, he’s sure. He almost asks Jack if Jack thinks he never will be ready, but he’s not sure he wants to know the answer to that question, doesn’t want to know what his own answer will be if Jack says yes.

“Then we wait until you’re ready,” Bitty says instead, voice firm, and Jack sighs as he pulls them tight together, and they drift in silence until Jack finally gets up for his morning run. The subject doesn’t come up again, and Bitty pushes it firmly from his mind. It’ll happen when it happens, and he just has to wait until Jack is ready, until his career is in the right place. 

Bitty’s job at the bakery is only part time, and he spends lots of time in the apartment with Jack, baking while Jack chirps him, filming his vlog while Jack looks on in interest (though he still won’t let Jack watch it, won’t tell him what the channel is called), and trying to stay awake through what feels like every single historical documentary on Netflix. They also spend time exploring Providence, Bitty dragging Jack into every single small cafe near Jack’s apartment, to galleries and parks. They visit every museum in the city, Bitty smiling as he watches Jack wave his arms excitedly about as he explains the historical importance of various exhibits. They have to maintain a careful distance between them, and there’s a couple of times where Bitty finds himself leaning in to take Jack’s hand, to push his hair out of his eyes, and has to pull himself back, but it doesn’t bother him as much as when he’d been down visiting Jack during the school year. 

Who cared what they had to do in public when Bitty had Jack wrapped around him every night in bed, when their laundry was all mixed together in the basket in Jack’s closet, when half of Jack’s drawers were filled with Bitty’s clothes and the kitchen had been entirely taken over by Bitty. Their life was so painfully domestic and it filled Bitty with so much joy, not even visiting his parents in Georgia could dampen it. He listened to two of his uncles talk about how they shouldn’t allow that ‘fucking faggot Michael Sam’ into the NFL and thought about the way Jack looked first thing in the morning, half asleep. He listened to Coach and his sister talk about how disgusting it was that the government was trying to let grown men into bathrooms with little girls, and thought about Jack picking him up when he decided that BItty had spent enough time in the kitchen that day, carrying him laughing and screaming from the room. Still, no amount of love in the world could make it a pleasant experience, and Bitty was more than relieved when, after a week in the hot Georgia sun, he was able to return to Providence and the arms of his boyfriend. 

The night that he gets back Jack surprises him by taking him out to a popular French restaurant in Providence that Bitty had been eyeing up online, but was too expensive for him to even think of suggesting they go there. Jack refuses to tell him where they are going, just tells him to wear something nice before hustling Bitty, wearing his favourite jacket and bowtie, into Jack’s SUV. The entire drive over, Bitty pesters Jack about where they are going while Jack remains silent, a smile curving his mouth as his eyes occasionally cut to Bitty. When they pull up outside of the restaurant, Bitty gasps, hands flying up to cover his mouth of their own accord. 

“Jack…” he says, trailing off as he turns to his boyfriend, alarmed to feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. 

“I was a bit of an ass at the beginning of the summer,” Jack says, “and I missed our anniversary, so…” he trails off, shrugging, and Bitty can’t help but throw his arms around him, hugging him tight. They separate and climb out, Jack handing his keys over to the valet (the valet!) and walk inside. Bitty gasps when he sees the interior, the sleekly modern and incredibly expensive looking interior unlike any restaurant he’d ever been to. The menu doesn’t have prices on it but Bitty knows just how expensive this place is, and he feels slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge of how much this meal will be costing Jack. He fiddles with the edges of the menu until Jack finally puts his hand on Bitty’s knee under the table, pressing down until Bitty stops fidgeting. 

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close, “don’t worry about it. This is a gift. I want to do this for you.” Bitty nods, breathing out and trying to let go of his discomfort. It helps when their appetizers arrive and are _amazing_ a trend that continues throughout dinner. Jack orders them a bottle of wine, but only has one glass himself, so Bitty is more than a little bit tipsy by the time they finally finish dessert. Tipsy enough, anyways, to openly moan when he tastes the crème brûlée he’s ordered, and to drag his tongue slowly over the spoon when he notices how Jack’s eyes darken at the sound. When the waitress comes back around to ask if they would like coffee or after-dinner drinks, Bitty has just finished leaning across the table to steal a bite of Jack’s chocolate cake, slowly licking a stray smear of the decadently rich dark chocolate mousse off his own lips. Jack’s voice is slightly strangled when he tells her that they are ready for the bill, and when they climb back into Jack’s vehicle, Bitty is satisfied to see that Jack’s grip on the wheel is so tight that his knuckles are turning white. He lets Jack pull into traffic and drive a couple of blocks, waits until he can see Jack relax slightly before he leans across the space in between them, putting his lips as close to Jack’s ear as he is able. 

“I want to suck you,” he says, and Jack swears. “When we get home I’m gonna go on my knees for you, let you fuck my mouth… but not come, because I don’t want you coming until you’re buried in me. Want you to fuck me so hard I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” 

“Crisse,” Jack says, and Bitty’s pretty sure he’ll be really embarrassed by all of this tomorrow but right now he doesn’t care, can’t wait to get Jack home so they can do everything he said and more. They barely get inside the door when Jack obliges him, throwing his keys in the direction of the kitchen counter as he picks up Bitty and carries him, legs wrapped around Jack’s waist as they kiss furiously, towards the bedroom. Even with how much Bitty knows he’s riled Jack up, Jack still, annoyingly, insists on taking his time opening Bitty up, and Bitty’s begging for it by the time Jack slicks up his cock and slides it inside of Bitty. Bitty’s eyes fly open at the sensation of the hard, hot length of Jack’s dick nudging its way inside of him, and when Jack pulls back and shoves back in, he cries out, eyes sliding shut as he grips the pillows beneath him and tries to hold on. Jack’s apparently done being gentle, and he fucks Bitty with all of the force of an evening’s worth of frustration. When Jack comes he pulls out, rolling Bitty over and jerking him until Bitty comes as well, eyes flying shut as his face screws up with pleasure. 

They wrap around each other, sated and sweaty and slightly sticky, and Bitty feels Jack smile against his neck. He presses small kisses to the space behind Bitty’s ear, and Bitty sighs in contentment, wishing he could go back in time and tell his high school self all about his wonderful, amazing boyfriend, about how, at twenty, he would be completely, incredibly in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I studied French in school in BC and Alberta we were taught France-French but when I did a summer exchange to Québec I picked up a lot of québécois swears (followed by doing my undergrad in New Brunswick and encountering Acadian French for the first time) so for a long time the only cuss words I knew in French, aside from merde, were all québécois which like, I *knew* they were weird and catholic but I didn't really appreciate it until I moved to Scotland and began to speak in French with my friends from France and Belgium and they thought the way I swore in french was HILARIOUS (my friend diiiied the first time she heard me say 'tabarnack'). 
> 
> Anyways, all of that to say [here's the wiki on sacres if you're interested](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quebec_French_profanity), I think it's really interesting how nonsensical québécois cuss words are in any other context.


	3. A lie I didn't have to tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning again this chapter for use of a homophobic slur
> 
> holy inconsistent use of tense batman

Bitty stays in Providence for a week into Jack’s preseason before deciding to head back to the Haus early. Jack is hardly home anyways, and, as he tells Jack, going back early will give him a chance to start preparing for school and his hockey season. He does feel far more confident about his capabilities as captain than he did at the beginning of the summer, four months of talking over hockey plays with his boyfriend leaving him feeling more than prepared to lead the Samwell Men’s hockey team. After all, there’s not many NCAA level captains who can say they’ve gotten advice from a NHL player.

He returns to Samwell sad to leave Jack and their summer together behind, but feeling far more secure in his relationship with his boyfriend than he had the previous fall. Last year had been rough on him, he could admit that to himself now, but after spending four months living together he was sure that he and Jack had worked out a lot of their communication problems. Jack had been telling him more about how he was feeling, or at least Bitty had been able to see it, while living with him. Even if it had been more a matter of Bitty being better able to gauge what was going on with Jack, and draw it out from him, when they were in person together, it still meant that he was beginning the new school year with a better understanding of his boyfriend. This year was going to be great, he knew it. 

It only takes a few weeks into the semester for him to realize that he might have been being a bit optimistic. He does still know better when something is wrong with Jack, but it doesn’t make Jack anymore likely to tell him, and the distance makes it easier for Jack to refuse to discuss it with him, just like he had the previous year. The frustrations of the previous year return in force, but this time Bitty is forced to acknowledge them. He knows that Jack doesn’t mean to hurt him by not talking to him, knows that Jack isn’t used to being able to rely on another person, to trust another person with his thoughts and emotions. But he’d really thought that they’d managed to work through that hesitation, at least enough that Jack could tell him when he was having a hard time with something. Instead, Bitty is back in the position of being able to read that something’s wrong in Jack’s tone of voice and, over Skype, the way he holds his body, but not being able to get Jack to _admit_ anything. When he’s down for the weekend, or when Jack drives up to visit him – something that occurs less and less as September winds to its end – they’re good, great even, and they talk as easily as they did all summer. The rest of the time, though, Bitty finds himself becoming increasingly upset as his tries harder and harder to talk, really talk, to Jack with diminishing returns each time. 

Jack snaps at him over Skype one night for asking one too many times if Jack was sure he was feeling okay after their overtime loss to Tampa Bay. Bitty pulls back from the screen, feeling his expression slip into one of shock, and watching as Jack’s eyes don’t soften the way they usually do. Jack looks at him, a hard look on his face before he finally sighs in frustration, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “but babe, you’ve got to… you’ve got to stop. I told you, I’m fine, can’t you just take me at my word and leave it like that?” Bitty feels numb as he agrees, as Jack changes the subject and they talk about Bob’s twitter fight with a sportscaster. After they hang up, Bitty calmly puts his laptop away, brushes his teeth, crawls into bed, and promptly bursts into tears, clutching Señor Bun to himself and sobbing until he’s exhausted. 

The next day he gets a parcel of adorable rabbit-shaped chocolate moulds in the mail. There’s a note that just reads ‘xoxo J’. As he stares into the open package he thinks for the first time that maybe love isn’t enough. 

In the middle of October, they have their first real fight. They’ve fought before, of course, over small things, like Jack spending too much money on Bitty, on Bitty asking him too many questions about how he was feeling, about missed calls and misunderstood texts. All of those seem mild in comparison to this fight though. It happens over the phone, which makes it so much worse, because Bitty can’t even see Jack’s face. Bitty’s sitting in the kitchen waiting for his pie to finish baking and, Jack having already recounted that day’s adventure training with Tater, is listening to Bitty ramble on about his twitter followers. Jack’s chuckling as Bitty winds up his story, and there is a moment’s pause before Jack speaks. 

“Actually, speaking of twitter, the team’s PR people think I should get one.” Bitty sits up, brightening. 

“Really? You’re going to get a twitter?” He teases, “the man who once referred to it as ‘that blue bird site’?” Jack laughs. 

“Yeah well, they think it’ll be good to ‘introduce me to the fans’,” Bitty can hear the scare quotes and laughs. “Apparently,” Jack continues, voice wry, “I can come off a bit cold in interviews.” Bitty fake gasps. 

“No! You?” Jack laughs. 

“Anyways, they were talking about how twitter works and it just made me think… do you still talk about me on your twitter?” 

“Yes?” Bitty says hesitantly, “but like, not by name, and nothing so specific that-”

“But you do talk about me?” Jack interrupts. 

“Yes, but Jack, not-”

“Mais tu– sorry, but you do talk about me, _right_?” 

“Yes, Jesus,” Bitty says, frustrated that Jack won’t let him finish a sentence. 

“Can you stop?” Jack asks. “Even if you’re not mentioning me by name, you did used to talk about me by name, and people know we’re friends, that you’ve stayed with me in Providence and it’s just, they might make a connection.” Bitty blinks.

“I suppose…” he says, hesitantly. “If you feel like it’s necessary sweetheart, of course I won’t tweet about you.” He swallows, already mourning the one place where he was able to openly talk about the fact that he had a boyfriend. He supposed he should stop talking about him on his vlog too, if Jack was uncomfortable with him talking about their relationship on twitter. 

“Meri, mon amour,” Jack says, sounding relieved. “It’s just, if it somehow comes out now, that I’m dating you… well, it’ll just be like the overdose all over again eh?” 

“...like the overdose?” Bitty asks, feeling like he’s swallowed ice. 

“Oui, it’ll become the only thing that I’m known for, the only thing people will bring up when they talk about me, not how I play the game.” Bitty feels numb, then furious. 

“You sure you want to compare me to your addiction?” Bitty says, accent thickening in his anger. 

“Well, just in how the media covers-” Jack starts, but the hesitation is obvious in his voice. 

“No, no,” Bitty interrupts, “you said it Jack. Being with me is just like having your addiction and overdose revealed to the media. We’re the same huh? Just two dirty secrets with the potential to fuck up your life and distract everyone from what a fucking amazing player you are.”

“That’s not what I was saying,” Jack says. His voice is all ice to Bitty’s fire, accent sharpening to a point while Bitty’s slurs together. 

“Really? Because it sure fucking felt like it. And it’s not like it’s the first time you said it.”

“It’s not my fault you could ruin my career!” Jack snaps, and Bitty doesn’t even think before barreling forward. 

“Oh, and it’s mine? Fuck, so sorry, I forgot I’m in charge of homophobia in hockey, silly ol’ me.” 

“Osti de tabarnak de calice, Bitty!” Jack growls. “What is wrong with you! That wasn’t even… I’m not saying that! I’m just saying that if I get outed that’ll become the only thing people associate with me, I’ll just be-!” 

“Just be what Jack? The faggot who plays hockey? RIght, because I’ve never heard that before. Because Lord fucking knows that you’re the only person who has ever had to deal with any sort of pressure-”

“You have no idea!” Jack interrupts, “You have no idea what fucking pressure is, why can’t you understand what I’m saying, you’re fucking twisting my words…”

“Oh I understand Jack,” Bitty says, “I understand plenty. I understand that you think you’re the only person who has ever had to deal with something like this but you’re not Jack! And by the way, you’re not even the only person in this fucking relationship who’s having to deal with this so maybe you can hop off your fucking high horse for a minute and remember that we’re in this together, and I am more than a fucking! Dirty! Secret!” Bitty almost shouts the last few words before violently thumbing the ‘end call’ button and smacking his phone down on the table. He’s breathing hard, and sometime in there he had stood up. 

He’s barely begun to catch his breath, adrenaline from the fight still pounding through his veins and making him dizzy, when he smells smoke. He shoves away from the table, running over to the oven but it’s too late, the pie is ruined. Sitting on the floor in front of the oven, cupcake-patterned oven mitts Ransom had bought him on each hand, staring into Betsy II, Bitty bursts into tears. He just yelled at Jack. He just _burned_ a pie. 

He allows himself to wallow for several minutes before finally hauling himself to his feet, wiping his eyes on the oven mitts as he pulls the ruined pie out of the oven. _It’s just one more year,_ he tells himself, leaning against the counter, pie shoved into the bin even as the scent of smoke lingers in the kitchen. If he can just get through one more year, everything will be fine. He and Jack will be fine, it’s just the pressures of long distance combined with the need to stay in the closet. They were fine over the summer, Bitty reminds himself, rubbing an exhausted hand through his hair and over his face. They’ll be fine again, great even. Just as soon as Bitty graduates. 

It doesn’t get better after that though. Both of them make stilted apologies to each other the next day, but when Bitty comes down the next weekend Jack doesn’t mention it, and neither does Bitty. Not talking about it doesn’t solve anything, however, and Bitty sometimes feels like he’s living through first year all over again. He’s seeing a side of Jack he hasn’t seen since then, but he can’t help but feel like it’s his fault. Even when he’s furious at Jack, it’s secondary to the guilt he feels for the pressure Jack is under, the affect his anxiety has on his life, the danger dating Bitty poses to his career. 

Bitty finds himself feeling glad that Ransom, Holster, and Lardo aren’t around anymore, because without them there’s no one to notice how he’s acting. He feels out of control, like he doesn’t even know how to feel about anything that’s happening. He doesn’t know if he should be sad or not, angry or not, and he can’t talk to anyone else to get their perspective because everything is a _secret_. 

He cries as much as he feels happy and he never thought that loving someone was supposed to _hurt_ the way loving Jack does. 

_/\\_

“Mon coeur,” Jack’s voice comes muffled from the bedroom, “have you seen my tie?” Bitty smiles, walking back from the living room to lean against the doorway.

“Which one?” He asks the shirt-covered back of his boyfriend where it is hunched over the dresser. Jack turns around, eyes crinkling when he sees Bitty standing there. 

“Which one should I wear?” He asks, and Bitty laughs, walking into the room. He hums as he looks down into the drawer, running fingers lightly over the selection in front of him. 

“You’re wearing the blue jacket?” He asks. 

“Oui,” Jack says, and Bitty pulls a burgundy tie with a pattern of small white diamonds out of the drawer. 

“Here,” he says handing it to Jack, “this’ll work great.” 

“Perfect,” Jack says, smiling and tucking it into his garment bag for the press room after the game. He turns back, cupping Bitty’s face in his hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

“One more for luck?” Bitty asks, and Jack smiles and kisses him again. 

“See you after the game.” 

Bitty watches the game from his usual close-but-not-too-close seat. He’s been feeling on edge all week, but the weekend has been going well so far and he’s able to relax into the game. The Falconers are playing the Aces, and while he’d worried for Jack the first time he had played against Kent the previous year, Jack had been and was fine. Though Jack hadn’t told him everything about what had happened back then between him and Kent, he’d told him enough. Combined with what Bitty had overheard that night at the Haus two years earlier, it had Bitty glaring at Kent every time he got on the ice in solidarity. 

The Falconers had been playing even better this year than last year – commentators were already talking about their playoff chances in the spring – and this game was no exception. By the time the second period buzzer sounds, the score is 1-0 for the Falconers and Bitty is on the edge of his seat. There’s a few hard checks in the third, including Tater slamming Parson into the boards so hard the glass ripples, but ultimately holds. Despite the increasing animosity between the teams, and the Aces playing fast and hard, in the end they aren’t able to get anything past the Falconer’s goalie, and the game ends in a shutout for the Falconers. 

Bitty hurries back the apartment after the final buzzer sounds, anxious to get back to the apartment and set up their traditional post-game celebration. He smiles as he thinks about the fact that the Falconers have been winning enough – and he has been at the apartment enough after the games – for them to have post-win traditions. Bitty had made the pie earlier in the day, so when he got home he just had to pull it out of the fridge and reheat it. He had just pulled it out of the oven when he hears the front door open. Setting it on the counter and throwing down the oven mitts, he ran out into the hallway. 

“Jack!” He says, running towards his boyfriend and throwing his arms around him. “Congratulations on the win!” Jack hugs him back, chuckling. 

“Thanks,” he says, voice rough. He pulls back, squeezing Bitty’s shoulder before heading into the apartment, setting his bag down. 

“Where are you going honey?” Bitty asks, voice amused as he trails after him. 

“Sorry,” Jack says, voice distracted as he heads into the bedroom. “I just need to change real quick.” 

“Why?” Bitty asks, bemused as he heads into the kitchen to start slicing up the pie. Jack says something that Bitty doesn’t quite catch. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” he says when Jack walks back into the room, now wearing a plaid button-up and jeans instead of his suit. 

“I’ve got to head out,” Jack says, flicking a glance down to the pie Bitty was cutting up. Bitty’s hand is frozen above the dish as he blinks at Jack. He sees a flash of guilt slide across Jack’s face as he looks back up at Bitty, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes.

“What?” Bitty says. 

“Yeah,” Jack rubs the back of his head, “sorry it’s just… in the locker room the guys were making all these comments about how I never come out with them after the game, and one of them said it was probably because I have a secret girlfriend at home, so I said I’d go out with them and-” 

“You’re going out?” Bitty interrupts, voice flat with surprise. 

“Yeah,” Jack says, and there’s that flash of guilt again. 

“And I’m guessing I’m not invited.” 

“Well, it’s not like I could explain why you’re suddenly there when I didn’t tell any of the guys I had a friend visiting for the game.” Jack’s voice has switched to being defensive. 

“And you couldn’t have told them when they asked you to come out with you?” 

“They would have asked why I didn’t tell them about you visiting at practice! Or why I didn’t get you better seats!”

“You’re paranoid,” Bitty says, looking down and seeing that his hand is shaking. 

“I’m not paranoid Bitty,” Jack says, sounding exasperated, “it’s justifiable.” 

“Is it justifiable,” Bitty asks, carefully setting the knife down on the countertop, “that I have come down here for the weekend to spend time with you, taking the train so you didn’t even have to take the time to drive down and get me, and risking falling even further behind in school just before exams, only to have you abandon me?” 

“I’m not abandoning you,” Jack says, and Bitty looks up to see him running a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I didn’t ask you to do any of that. I just… I can’t stayed locked up in this apartment all the time just because you decided to come and visit me.” Bitty steps back, feeling like he’s been slapped. 

“I… I thought you wanted me to come.” He says, hating how small his voice sounds. 

“I do it’s just… you don’t have to come every weekend. You don’t have to fall behind in school, fuck, like I would ever ask you for that.” 

“I just want to see you,” Bitty says, voice cracking, “I love you, I want to be with you. I miss you.” 

“I miss you too Bitty,” Jack says, voice softening, “but crisse Bits, I can’t structure my life around you.”

“But I have to structure mine around yours?” 

“What? No.” 

“So I don’t have to keep my entire relationship with you a secret? I don’t have to lie to my family and friends for you? I don’t have to plan my days around your game schedule so that I can be around to get your calls, when you remember to make them that is?” 

“Jesus Bitty, I don’t _ask_ you to– fuck!" He says, cutting himself off. "I don't have time to do this right now. I have to go.” He sighs. “Can we talk about it when I get home?” 

“No,” Bitty says, suddenly furious. “No, don’t bother. I’ll go since me being here is such an inconvenience to you.” 

“Bitty,” Jack says, but Bitty ignores him, walking back to the bedroom and grabbing his bag, shoving his clothing into it. Jack follows him, leaning against the doorway. “Bitty,” Jack says again, sighing, “don’t be unreasonable.” 

“Unreasonable?” Bitty hisses, spinning back around. “ _Unreasonable_?” He stares at Jack for a moment before resuming shoving stuff in his bag. He grabs two more shirts before deciding that’s enough, that he can’t be there anymore. He turns and walks back out to the entryway, pulling on his jacket and shoes. 

“Bitty,” Jack says, and Bitty spins around, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corner of his eyes. 

“What Jack?” Bitty asks, voice wavering. “What? Do you want me to stay, waiting in this empty apartment for you? Being an inconvenience?” 

“I never said you were an inconvenience,” Jack snaps, “But clearly you don’t need to actually talk to me to know what I’m thinking.” 

“Well fuck Jack,” Bitty throws up his arms, feeling the tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s not like you say anything when I do try to talk to you. Y’know what-” he says, holding up a hand when Jack opens his mouth again. “-you’re right. Let’s talk about this later. Have fun tonight.” He bites out, before turning and walking out the door. He walks down the hallway, expecting to feel Jack’s hand on his shoulder at any moment, telling him to wait, chasing after Bitty. 

It doesn’t come.

When Bitty leaves the building his anger manages to carry him for several blocks before the reality of the situation sinks in. He’s still angry, so angry, and sick and tired and upset, but as he walks and mentally tallies his bank account, he realizes that he can’t actually afford to get a ticket on an earlier train back, much less a hotel room in Providence for the night. He can’t leave Providence until his train tomorrow morning, but there’s no way he’s going back to Jack’s place, not tonight, not now that he’s stormed out like he did. He should have just stayed there, he thinks to himself, angrily kicking at a pile of leaves. Better to be angry and in an apartment than angry and homeless in Providence for the night. 

In the next two blocks he manages to curse himself, curse Jack, curse the entire roster of the Providence Falconers (and the Aces too, for good measure), himself again, Jack again, the whole city of Providence and hell, God too. He obviously hated Bitty, so why shouldn’t Bitty get to cuss Him out in return. 

He’s so goddamn tired and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. He feels like he’s been flayed open, like every single missed call and evasive answer in the last year and a half have led up to this moment. He’s given and given, hasn’t told Jack when he was upset about Jack skipping out on seeing him for another NHL event because this was Jack’s _career_ , this is what he’d been working for his whole life, what he’d almost _died_ trying to achieve. His throat is raw with everything he’s swallowed down for Jack’s sake, and in return Jack hasn’t given Bitty anything. And now, now he was acting like Bitty was an inconvenience.

_/\\_

Bitty’s thoughts swirl over the same points over and over again as he wanders, swinging between bone-deep exhaustion and roiling anger. When the energy granted to him by his anger finally begins to fade, he finds himself standing outside of a small, shabby pub. He stares at the sign, which features an exceptionally ugly looking fox and hare, for a long moment before pushing open the door with a resigned sigh. _Why not_ , he thinks. Not like today can get any worse. 

Leaning against the bar to catch the bartender’s attention and feeling how sticky it is makes him almost reconsider that opinion, and he only stays at the bar long enough to order a beer and some fries before making his way to a booth in the corner. He tosses his duffel into the booth ahead of him and settles down with a sigh, resigning himself to a night of nursing a single beer until the pub closes. After that… well, he’d figure that out then. 

If Bitty thought the bar might get busier as the night went on, he would have been wrong. Aside from a couple of guys at the bar who looked like they probably hadn’t left those seats in decades and a younger couple having a hushed argument at a table near the front window, the bar stayed mostly empty, with a few people coming and going. It was a surprise then, when a shadow crossed over where Bitty was drawing shapes on the table using the condensation from his glass. 

“I’m good for now, than-” Bitty pauses mid sentence as he glances up and sees not the bartender but Kent Parson, staring down at him with a strange expression on his face. 

“Bitty, right?” He asks, “Jack’s friend?” Bitty freezes. 

“Um,” he says, and Parson slides into the seat across from him. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I was just really surprised to see you. What are you doing in Providence? Did you move here?” Bitty shakes his head as the bartender comes over and deposits a beer and some jalapeno poppers in front of Parson. 

“What are you doing here?” He blurts out instead of answering Parson’s questions. Parson looks at him for a long moment, expression inscrutable, before shrugging and turning to look over at the rest of the bar. 

“The other bar was too loud,” he says.

“Which bar were you at?” Bitty asks, his Southern manners kicking in and propelling him through the conversation on autopilot. 

“Oh, The Drake. The teams went there after the game,” he says casually and Bitty realizes that that must be where the Falcs were going. Where Jack went. Fuck. 

He feels his expression twitch as he hums noncommittally, not sure what to say. Not sure he would be able to say anything with the tight knot of emotion that Parson’s words had brought back up into his throat. He spins his glass, wondering if Parson had actually left because the other place was too loud, or if it had been because Jack had showed up. Parson was from Vegas, Bitty had a hard time imagining any bar was too loud for him. Realizing that he’s been silent for longer than is probably comfortable, he lifts his beer to take a drink, happy to keep procrastinating having to reply to Parson.

“So, how long have you been sleeping with Jack?” Parson asks, and Bitty chokes on his beer, almost spitting it out. Parson does nothing, just watches as Bitty coughs. 

“What?” Bitty finally says, staring wide-eyed at Parson. 

“How long have you been-” Parson repeats, stopping when Bitty waves a hand at him. 

“Why would you ask me that?” He says, immediately, painfully aware that that wasn’t exactly a denial. 

“You are, aren’t you?” Parson asks, looking intently at Bitty. “Shit,” he says, shaking his head and leaning back in the booth. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“What?” Bitty says again, thrown by the abrupt shift. 

“I can’t imagine Jack is any better at being a boyfriend now than he was when we were in the Q.” 

“He said you weren’t his boyfriend,” Bitty blurts out, then claps a hand to his mouth, eyes widening in horror. Something dark passes over Kent’s face, and he laughs harshly as he raises his beer to his mouth. 

“He would,” he mutters, taking a drink. Bitty blinks at him for a long moment, before rallying. 

“I… it’s not… he’s not my boyfriend.” 

“No?” Parson asks, raising an eyebrow and taking another drink. 

“No,” Bitty says firmly, finishing his drink. “Now if you’ll excuse me Mr. Parson, I think I should-”

“Wait,” Parson puts out a hand, stopping Bitty, who had half-risen from his seat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… let me buy you a beer yeah? To make up for being an ass.” Bitty hesitates, but he really doesn’t want to try and find somewhere else to hang out and wait for the morning. He settles into his seat, nodding at Parson who shoots him a wide grin, leaving Bitty blinking as he slides out of the booth and walks over to the bar. 

He has time to take a couple of breaths and try and steady himself. He almost reaches for his phone to text Jack but stops. He looks at his phone for a moment, then flips it face down just as Parson returns. Bitty frowns at the tequila shot Parson puts in front of him, accompanied by a bottle of beer. 

“You didn’t say anything about shots,” Bitty said. Parson shrugged. 

“Yeah well, Jack or no Jack, someone’s the reason that you’re sitting in a Providence bar alone on a Friday night with a duffle bag full of clothes.” Bitty glances guiltily at the poorly packed bag sitting in the booth next to him, before turning back to Parson, who lifts up his own shot. “Fuck ‘em,” he says, “whoever they are.” Bitty hesitates, then picks up his own shot. 

“Fuck ‘em,” he says, clinking their shot glasses together before tossing it back. 

_/\\_

It turns out that Kent Parson is very easy to talk to. A conversation that had started with Bitty politely inquiring after Kent’s cat just so they weren’t sat in total silence while they each drank their beers turned into trading locker room stories turned into Kent sharing the most salacious hockey gossip he could think of. Somewhere around Bitty sharing the impact his mother’s jam-based feud had had on his highschool years, ‘Parson’ had turned into ‘Kent’ and Bitty found he didn’t mind that at all. There was a small guilty voice in the back of his head reminding him of what Kent had said to Jack that night at the epikegster, what Jack would think about Bitty sitting here all night drinking with Kent. The second, louder voice kept pointing out how nice it was to talk to someone who he didn’t have to worry about hiding his relationship from, even if he hadn’t actually admitted it, even if Jack hadn’t come up again since Kent had first mentioned him. Just knowing that there was no chance of him making some small mistake that could ruin Jack’s career had unclenched something in Bitty’s spine that he hadn’t even been aware of.

After all, it wasn’t like he could out Jack to _Kent_.

It was that thought, persistently circling around Bitty’s mind, that led to them abruptly, four beers in, talking about nothing other than Jack. They were talking about whether or not Kent had actually dated Taylor Swift like all of the gossip magazines said he did, and Kent was being _annoyingly cagey_ about the whole thing, to Bitty’s growing frustration. He finally throws up his hands, leaning back in the booth. 

“I don’t know why you won’t just tell me,” he grumbled, crossing his arms, which made Kent laugh and wink at him over his beer bottle. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” he said, and Bitty sighed. 

“Fine, at least tell me one famous person who you’ve actually dated. Just confirm _one_ rumor,” Bitty pleads. Kent pauses, then gives a small, harsh laugh, looking down at his bottle. 

“Well, I can name you one, but you already know who he is.” Bitty froze. Kent stayed looking down at his bottle while Bitty tried to pull his thoughts together. Were they really going to talk about this? Did he _want_ to talk about this? But maybe it would be good, he thought, not just for him to acknowledge his relationship with Jack with a single other human being, but to someone who actually knows Jack, who has known him for a lot longer than Bitty. Bitty looks at Kent for a long moment, thoughts racing through his head, before finally making a decision. 

“Tell me about it,” he says, and Kent looks up, the uncertainty in his yes fading as he takes in Bitty’s determined expression. 

“Are you sure?” He still asks, and when Bitty nods, orders them another round of beers and shots. At Bitty’s raised eyebrow, he gives a crooked grin. “We’re going to need them,” he says. Bitty suspects he’s probably right, and accepts his drinks without further complaint. After they’ve both knocked back their shot, Kent sighs, placing one hand flat on the table and staring down at it. 

“I think I fell in love with Zimms when I was fifteen. We’d been friends for longer than that of course but there was something about him that year… he was so fucking awkward and gangly and so… French Canadian, y’know?” And Bitty had to smile, a small, painful thing, because he _did_ know. “Anyways, I spent about half a year mooning after him before I finally worked up the nerve to kiss him at a party one night.” Kent glances up at Bitty, who nods at him to continue, even as he questions if he really should. It’s too late now though, as Kent begins to speak again. 

“I was so fucking in love with him and like, it was obvious things weren’t okay with him but I didn’t know what to do about it. We were so on top of the world, and with all the partying and stuff… and I was only a kid too, I couldn’t have… It wasn’t my responsibility to save him.” Kent glanced up at Bitty, shooting him that same crooked smile from earlier. “Therapy,” he says, and Bitty bites out a surprised laugh. Kent grins back at him, before shrugging. 

“Anyways, I’m sure you know the story of the… of the overdose,” Kent swallows hard, and it’s obvious that no matter how much therapy he’s had, he still struggles with what happened to Jack, what Jack did to himself. “Afterwards, Zimms refused to see me, refused to talk to me. Which I guess is when I started to suspect that Zimms had never loved me the way I loved him, had never seen us as actually being in a relationship.” Kent pauses, spinning his bottle on the tabletop. “I said some brutal things to him,” he says firmly, before raising his eyes to meet Bitty’s, gaze so intense Bitty has to fight not to look away, “I’m not trying to pretend I didn’t. But he said just as bad, if not worse, to me.” His eyes search Bitty face, then he winces. 

“Not that you have any reason to believe me,” he says, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be saying shit like this to you, it’s not fair to you.” Bitty doesn’t even think before he speaks. 

“He’s said awful stuff to me before,” he says, then swallows against the realization that he’s implicitly confirmed what they’ve danced around all night. Kent looks surprised though, so he forces himself to push past it, continuing. “When I was in my first year he… he was really cruel to me. I’ve had… have, some issues with checking, and he used to tell me to either learn how to play better or quit. And he called my first NCAA goal a lucky shot.” Shock flashes across Kent’s face, followed by anger. 

“That’s fucked,” he says. 

“He got better though,” Bitty continues, hurriedly, “that was in my first year and he’s apologized for all of it– most of it.” Kent’s still shaking his head, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“What-” Bitty starts, hesitating, but wanting to know, “what did he say to you?” Kent leans back, staring at Bitty beneath the brim of his cap. 

“He told me he had never loved me,” Kent says flatly, and Bitty flinches. “He told me that it was just physical, that I needed to get over it.” Kent pauses, then continues, “He told me he would never come out, that his career would always come first.” Bitty puts his hand over his mouth, and Kent looks surprised, then regretful. “I’m sure it’ll be different with you,” he adds quickly, “he _loves_ you.” 

“But is love enough?” Bitty asks before he can think it through, voicing the thought that's been running through his head more and more lately. Kent’s face twists. In his eyes Bitty sees one boy lying in a hospital bed, breathing tube down his throat, while another waits in the hallway outside, head bowed with the weight of what could have happened. Kent blinks, and Bitty shakes his head to dispel the thoughts of those two seventeen-year-old boys and the choices they had made.

“It should be,” Kent says, looking sad, “it’s supposed to be.” They both sit in silence for a moment before Kent speaks again. “You and Jack though,” Kent says, staring down at the table top, “you could make it.” He looks back up. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” 

“I want us to be forever,” Bitty admits, hesitating before continuing, “but… sometimes I’m not sure if we’ll make it through _now_ to get to forever.” 

“It’ll get easier once you’re not so far apart,” Kent reassures, “long distance is always a bitch.” 

“It’ll get better once he comes out,” Bitty corrects, “he’ll always have roadies and- what?” He cuts himself off mid sentence, noticing the strange look on Kent’s face.

“He… he said he’d come out for you?”

“He… I mean… we’ve talked about it.” Kent shook his head, scrubbing his hand down his face. 

“He’s not going to do it,” Kent says, and then looks pained, like he hadn’t meant to say that. Bitty sits up, spine abruptly rigid as he coolly surveils the other man. 

“You don’t know that,” Bitty says. 

“I know Zimms,” Kent challenges, “and I-”

“You _knew_ Jack,” Bitty says icily. “You don’t know him anymore. Just because he wouldn’t do it for you, doesn’t mean he won’t do it for me.” Kent’s expression crumples, and he shakes his head. 

“You’re right, I don’t know him anymore,” he continues, quieter, “fuck, maybe I never did.” He looks up at Bitty then, gaze surprisingly intense. “But he’s not the only part of your relationship. What you want, who you _are_ matters too.” 

“What do you mean?” Bitty asks hesitantly. 

“I mean it matters what you want too, Bits. Whether you want to stay in the closet, whether you’re okay with things being the way they are. How you’re feeling, how this affects you, all of that matters just as much as Jack and his career.” Bitty blinks, surprised. Not that anything that Kent is saying is untrue, not that he hasn’t said it to himself… but somehow hearing someone else say it makes it seem so much more _true_. When he glances up again, he finds Kent looking at him, gaze searching. When he speaks, it’s to change the subject, and Bitty is grateful for it, though his thoughts keep coming back to what Kent said again and again. 

Bitty wasn’t sure he knew what he wanted, not anymore. He felt like without even noticing he’d lost whole parts of himself to his relationship with Jack, like he was sinking into it, falling into it. Feeding bits of himself into the darkness just to keep the light on between them. 

What does he want? He wants to be free to love the man he loves. He wants to not feel so alone all the time. He wants Jack to talk to him. He wants to feel like his feelings are acknowledged. He looks over at Kent, at the single other person on the planet who knows what he and Jack are to each other other than Jack's parents. The only other person who can understand what Bitty is going through, what Bitty is feeling. Who has been hurt by Jack in the same ways Bitty has been hurt by Jack. Who Bitty didn’t even _like_ before tonight, who he even somewhat hated. Who somehow now knew more about Bitty’s life and feelings than anyone else he knew, even his boyfriend. _What do I want?_ Bitty thinks to himself. 

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. 

Bitty interrupts Kent mid-ramble about Kit. 

“Want to go back to yours?” He asks, and Kent doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yes,” he says. 

_/\\_

They don’t speak as they walk back to the hotel, standing in silence in the elevator, as Kent swipes his key card. Once they finally get inside the room, they both stop. They stare at each other for a long moment in the dim light of the streetlights outside, Kent not having bothered to turn on the lights when they came through the door. Bitty finds himself leaning back against the door as they both look at each other, neither of them willing to make the first move, to shatter the tension thick between them. 

“Are we really doing this?” Kent finally asks. Bitty shrugs. 

“I don’t know,” he says, suddenly nervous, suddenly guilty, as if as long as they didn’t say anything, he could pretend they both didn’t know what was about to happen. That he could pretend he hadn’t meant anything by it when he’d suggested they go to Kent’s room. “I…” he trails off, and it’s not that he doesn’t understand what he’s about to do, what it means about him, what it means for his and Jack’s relationship. But he’s so goddamn _tired_ and Kent’s here, and Kent understands him, understands what loving Jack means. 

Bitty loves Jack so much it hurts.

He’s tired of it hurting. 

When he steps forward and presses his lips to Kent’s, its seems to be the signal that Kent was waiting for, because he deepens the kiss immediately, pulling Bitty flush to him before spinning them, pushing Bitty up against the wall. They gasp into each other’s mouths as fingers wind into hair, Kent’s cap falling to the floor with a distant thud. They kiss and kiss and then Kent presses his hips forward, starting to grind, slow and dirty, his hips against Bitty’s. Bitty groans, can feel himself beginning to get hard. Their kisses are sloppy, all teeth and tongue and Bitty lets himself forget everything else in the taste of Kent on his tongue, in the feel of his hard muscles pressed against Bitty’s own. 

Still, he can’t help but briefly compare the way Kent kisses to Jack, especially with what he knows of their history. He’s relieved to find they’re nothing alike though, Kent surging ahead when Jack would have hung back, rough when Jack would be gentle, soft when Jack would have bitten. When Bitty hooks a leg over Kent’s hip, the other man moans into his mouth, picking him up and walking him over to the bed, where he throws him down. Bitty bounces slightly, looking up at Kent who was now pulling off his shirt to reveal a colourful array of tattoos covering one arm and dropping down across one of his pecs. He stares at him, still not immune to the sight of the heavily muscled frame of a professional hockey player. He wants to bite Kent’s pecs, lick down his abs. He hasn’t even seen his cock yet but he wants to suck it so bad he can feel his mouth water. 

Instead, he gets Kent pressing him back down on the bed, kissing Bitty fiercely as he fumbles at Bitty’s fly. He manages to get it undone, and tugs Bitty’s jeans halfway off his hips before Bitty is shoving him over, rolling to straddle Kent’s hips instead. He pushes himself onto his knees to tug at Kent’s pants, growling in frustration when they get stuck on Kent’s ass. 

“Stupid hockey butts,” he mutters, and Kent laughs as Bitty slides off the bed to pull Kent’s pants the rest of the way off, taking the opportunity to divest himself of the last of his clothing as well. He straightens to see Kent unabashedly looking at Bitty’s ass. He smiles, then feels abruptly guilty again. _Oh God,_ he thinks, _what am I doing_?, standing naked in another man’s room, about to have _sex_ with his boyfriend's ex-boyfriend. He'll be a cheater, he thinks to himself. He'll have cheated on Jack. Kent frowns at him, sitting up and instinctively moving a hand to hover over his hard cock as if to hide it from view. 

“Bitty?” He asks, and Bitty makes a choice. 

“Lie back,” he commands, crawling back onto the bed. “You played hard today, I’ll do all the work.” 

“Works for me,” Kent says, grinning, and after that Bitty doesn’t think much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	4. I might as well take a gun and put it to his head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out for Helen for helping to talk me through the difficulties I was having in setting up this chapter.

“This will never happen again,” Bitty mouths those words over and over again, sitting in silence on the train, face pressed against the cold window. He’s not listening to music – he doesn’t deserve Beyoncé right now – and the silence is pressing in on him on all sides where he’s huddled into his seat, bag on the seat next to him to ensure that no one sits with him. His nails are biting into his skin with how hard he’s gripping his own arms as he hugs himself, but he doesn’t feel it. 

That morning had been horribly, painfully awkward. Bitty had tried to sneak out but had only been halfway through getting dressed when the door to the room began to open from the outside. Panicking, Bitty had dived into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it before realizing that most of his clothes (along with Kent’s) were still strewn around the hotel room, along with Bitty’s bag. He could hear the muffled sounds of Kent and another man talking before the door opened and shut once again. The rap of Kent’s knuckles came shortly after. 

“Bitty?” He said, pausing for a moment before continuing, “you can come out now, Kuznetsov is gone.” Bitty put his hand on the doorknob before stopping, looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t want to go out there, didn’t want to face what he’d done in the harsh morning light but he knew he had no choice. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, he turned the doorknob and stepped out, avoiding Kent’s eyes as he continued picking up his clothes. Kent let him get dressed in silence, only breaking it when Bitty began pulling on his shoes. He said Bitty’s name three times before Bitty finally looked up. Kent was standing there, spinning Bitty’s phone in his hands and not looking at Bitty. 

“I don’t…,” he started then stopped. He took a deep breath, then started again. “You don’t have to but… if you need someone to talk to again, I can…”. Bitty stood slowly, walking over and taking his phone from Kent, glancing down at it before finally looking up at Kent. His eyes flicked over to the bruises on the side of Kent’s neck without his permission and he winces. 

“I won’t,” he said as firmly as he was able, then picked up his bag and left the hotel. Using the back stairs to avoid seeing any other Aces players just made him feel more dirty, and by the time he’d reached the train station he was well into a tirade against himself in his head, berating himself for every choice he had made in the past 48 hours. Now, an hour into a two hour train ride, he was beginning to run out of aspects of his personality to insult, but was nowhere near running out of shame and anger. He had never thought he would be this person, that he was _capable_ of being this person. He’d always wondered about why people would cheat, watching soaps with his Moomaw as a child and staring in fascination at the couples screaming at each other on the TV.

Now he knew. People cheated when they were pushed and pushed and were so desperately unhappy they couldn’t see a way out but so desperately in love they couldn’t bear to leave. They cheated when they were weak, when they were sad and alone and angry. They cheated when they made the choice to cheat, when they decided that their morals were less important than how they felt in the moment. _He_ had made that choice, to betray Jack and to betray their relationship because he was weak and pathetic and didn’t deserve Jack. He didn’t deserve happiness and he didn’t deserve Jack’s love and even as he ran over that thought over and over again he knew that he still wouldn’t leave Jack. 

Bitty might be weak but he was also selfish and he wasn’t going to tell Jack about this. Even as he thought to himself that it was for Jack’s sake, he knew it was really for his own sake. He loved Jack and he _was_ selfish and he didn’t want to break up with him. And Jack wouldn’t know if Bitty didn’t tell him, would never notice and for once BItty was so so grateful for that fact. He wiped the tears off his cheek, avoided the looks of the other passengers on the train, and prepared himself to continue lying to everyone that he knew. Including, this time, Jack. 

_/\\_

The month after that night, after the worst thing Bitty had ever done, he threw himself into his responsibilities. He was the perfect captain, approachable to his frogs, stern on the ice, pouring over plays for hours. He actually managed to do all his schoolwork, though his baking suffered for it. He pretended not to notice the worried looks Chowder, Dex, and Nursey shot him when they came into the kitchen and found him reading his textbook with not a rolling pin in sight. He was also the best boyfriend he could possibly be, endlessly attentive to Jack, refusing to be strung by any missed calls or skype dates. He ignored the roll in his stomach at the way Jack accepted all of Bitty’s attention without question, the way that he easily slid into not asking Bitty about his life when Bitty stopped telling him without prompting. 

When Bitty saw Jack two weeks after that night, he thought he was going to be sick. Jack seemed startled with the force of Bitty’s apology for the fight, but he accepted it with wary grace. Bitty felt paranoid that whole weekend, sure that Jack would somehow figure it out, but the warm kisses he pressed to Bitty’s cheek when he got up for his run, leaving Bitty sleeping in the bed proved his worries wrong. The soft ‘love you’ said into his hair while they watched a documentary, the way he smiled at Bitty when he dropped him back off at the Haus had something unclenching in Bitty’s spine, and he had the sick feeling of having gotten away with something terrible. 

Despite himself, and despite his determination to focus on anything but, Bitty wasn’t able to banish Kent from his thoughts. The other man kept popping into his head at the most inopportune of moments. He would be smiling at Jack on Skype and would suddenly remember the way Kent had smiled at him around the lip of his beer. He would be sitting in class and would remember how Kent had felt sliding into him, the way he had bit his lip and moaned as Bitty rode him. He thought he could forget about it, with time and space and fierce determination. But Kent refused to leave his thoughts, making his face heat with shame every time he remembered. Bitty had found out who he really was the moment he’d pressed his mouth to Kent’s, and there wasn’t any way for him to unlearn that. 

The first time he broke his promise to himself to be the perfect, uncomplaining boyfriend Jack needed, that Jack deserved, it was 3am on a Tuesday night. Jack hadn’t picked up his phone at the time they’d agreed upon, and when he finally called Bitty back it was almost midnight and he was snappy with exhaustion. The conversation had been short, tense, and ended when Jack abruptly announced that he had to go to bed. Bitty lay in bed for hours, unable to sleep, before finally picking up his phone, opening Twitter through sheer force of habit. He thumbed through his feed for a while before finally tapping on the ‘tweet’ button. He hesitated for a moment, then quickly began to type. 

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
how does someone who says they love you not care enough to listen to you?

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
how do you love someone when they won’t let you know how they feel?

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
why does love hurt so much?

He sat there for several long minutes, staring at the tweets until one of his followers liked the last one, and then he hastily deleted them all before someone could retweet them or screenshot them. He’d only just finished deleting the third tweet when his phone chimed with the sound of a new direct message. Tapping on the notification, he sat up in shock when he saw who it was from. 

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
r u ok?

Bitty stared at the screen for a long moment, before abruptly closing the app, tossing his phone to the far end of his bed, as if he could erase the message if he could just get enough distance between himself and his phone. He sat for a long moment, remembering following Kent all those months ago at the kegster. He wondered when Kent had followed him back – he hadn’t seen the notification amongst all of his other notifications. He wondered why Kent was awake. Had he just been on twitter, or had he been looking at Bitty’s profile specifically? He closed his eyes. _I don’t want this,_ he thought fiercely, and he didn’t. He didn’t want Kent fucking Parson checking in on him at 3am, he didn’t want Kent Parson to be paying more attention to Bitty’s pathetic middle of the night tweets than his boyfriend did. He didn’t want Kent Parson knowing his secrets. He was already Bitty’s biggest secret.

He didn’t answer the message, and Kent didn’t send another one. 

Until he did.

They had just won a game in which Bitty had taken a hard check. Bitty was lying on his bed, bag of ice on his knee, listening to Dex and Nursey bicker from where they were sitting on his floor, Chowder hovering nervously in the doorway. When his phone chimed, Bitty idly picked it up, eyes widening when he read the notification. Tilting the phone screen away from his teammates, he opened up the message. 

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
saw ur game today. u played really well, that goalie of urs is a champ!!!! hope ur knee is doing ok

Bitty swallowed so hard his throat clicked. _Bastard,_ he thought viciously, throwing his phone down on the sheets next to him. _Fucking bastard,_ he thought, and ignored the call log he could clearly see in his mind, the last call from his boyfriend from two days ago. Jack was getting ready for his game tonight, Bitty told himself. He didn’t have the time to watch Bitty’s games. He’d ask Bitty if he was okay later. Just because Kent Parson asked him right away didn’t make him somehow better than Jack, it just made him.... But Bitty couldn’t figure out how to finish that thought, and then Dex was yelling at Nursey and distracting him from worrying about any of it. 

The next time Kent messaged him it was in the middle of a ten tweet rant against academic institutions that condone the frankly inhumane practice of assigning both midterms and massive essays the same week. Bitty was happy to blow off his frustration of how poorly his studying was going via the twittersphere, the condolences sent to him by his followers making him feel much better even as he also decided to also make a pie. He took a break from composing angry tweets to make the dough for the pie. He almost dropped his phone when he picked it up after he'd finished and saw he had another notification from Kent Parson. This time Kent had also liked a couple of the tweets, Bitty noticed, before opening up the message. 

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
ur making me happy I didn’t go to college lol

Bitty didn’t really think about it before sending a reply, the smiling poop emoji, and he immediately wished he hadn’t. Kent would take it as an invitation, Bitty knew it, he would message Bitty more, he would refuse to leave Bitty’s thoughts, he would haunt Bitty with what Bitty had done, he would– Bitty’s phone chimed, and Bitty picked it up to see a picture of a small, black, very pissed-off looking cat. 

_Kit believes in you!_ the text below it read, followed by a cat emoji. Bitty swallowed, and shut the app. He didn’t feel like tweeting anymore. He did finish making the pie though, and Kent didn’t message him again that night.

After that, Bitty didn’t let himself reply to any more of Kent’s messages, though that still didn’t stop Kent from sending them. Bitty found himself smiling at the pictures Kent sent of his cat, found himself begrudgingly cheered up after a loss when he checked his phone to find dumb encouraging messages from the other man. It was easier, in a lot of ways, to deal with Jack’s inattention when he could open twitter and find a message waiting for him from Kent, full of ridiculous encouragement and stupid anecdotes about his day. He didn’t mind as much when Jack didn’t ask him how the test Bitty had told him about had gone when he had a message from Kent telling him to ‘kick that exam’s ass!’ followed by a gif of Shia LaBeouf. He was happier, he had more energy to support Jack, and he hated it.

Kent hadn’t been discouraged by his silence, and at this point it felt like it was too late for Bitty to message him and tell him to stop. Kent wouldn’t believe him, and why would he? It had been a month of Bitty silently accepting Kent’s messages, his encouragement and his annoying ability to make Bitty laugh. He was making Bitty’s life easier and Bitty felt like he was sliding down a slope towards something dangerous and unknown. Something that he refused to let himself think about, refused to let himself acknowledge. 

Bitty was on twitter after a day spent trying to teach Chowder how to bake cinnamon buns for Farmer when he saw Kent’s handle on his timeline. Before he could stop himself, he had already read it. 

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
tfw u prove everyone right abt who u rly are… [https://www.youtube.com/watch…](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cr-SqRWImmI)

Bitty clicked on the link, watching as the YouTube app opened and began playing Marina & The Diamonds. He listened to the whole song before clicking back into the twitter app. He hesitated for a long moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but a month’s worth of friendly messages whenever Bitty needed the most tugged at everything he had been raised with, and he typed out a message. Pressing send felt like a betrayal and a release. 

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
Are you okay?

He stared at his phone, not sure if he wished he could take it back or not. It was too late either way, and as he waited to see if Kent would respond or not, he clicked back onto Kent’s profile. The tweet was now gone, but he didn’t have time to think about that before his phone chimed with an incoming message. 

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
do u ever feel like you’re fucked no matter what u do? either u act like who they think u r and prove them right abt what they say abt u.... or u act like urself and they say ur pretending to be smtg ur not, and are still what they think u r

sorry i’m being stupid. ignore me.

Bitty took a deep breath, and then typed out ‘I’m sure ur not being stupid. What happened?’. 

_/\\_

That message proved to be just as much as a surrender as Bitty knew it would be. Now that he’d been the one to initiate a conversation, he couldn’t help but respond to Kent more and more. There was so much about talking to Kent that was easier than talking to anyone else in his life. Kent was unselfconscious in his praise – sending Bitty supportive messages with ease, and with unerring accuracy about when Bitty needed them the most. He wasn’t on Bitty’s team or in Bitty’s class and was an uncomplicated sounding board for everything that was going on in Bitty’s head. He was bluntly honest with Bitty about his own emotions and struggles, flatly telling Bitty, when he’d asked why Kent would ever be so candid with him, that he didn’t have to worry about Bitty ever telling them to anyone else, or he'd risk betraying every secret he was keeping from the world and from Jack. Bitty hadn’t talked to him for days after that message, feeling sick to his stomach. 

He returned to massaging him less than a week later, however. Because Kent was right, and that was also the crux of the most important reason that Bitty had for talking to Kent. Unlike everyone else in Bitty’s life, with Kent there was no looming ghost of Jack that he had to talk around – Kent already knew they were together, knew exactly what being in a relationship with Jack was like, what it meant to have to hide that from everyone. He could send Kent messages venting about Jack, complaining about the fact that Jack hadn’t texted him back. He could talk to Kent about Jack’s annoying habits. _Who leaves their socks on the bathroom floor every time? Just the socks too, not the rest of his clothing,_ Bitty messages him one day, and Kent replies with the laughing/crying emoji. Despite all of this, Bitty keeps desperately reassuring himself that this was all it would ever be, that he wouldn’t be seeing Kent in person again, wouldn’t have the opportunity to ever repeat that most visceral betrayal. 

He ignored the voice in the back of his head that asked if talking to Kent wasn’t a worse betrayal. 

It was mid-November when everything shifted again. Bitty was having the worst day he’d had in a long time. The previous night he and Jack had had the kind of fight where neither of them actually said what they were fighting about but anger unpinned each word they spoke to each other. Bitty went to bed feeling miserable and wasn’t able to fall asleep for far too long. He slept through his alarm, missing his first class, and there was a surprise quiz in calculus that he was certain he had failed. At lunch, the cafeteria ran out of the mac and cheese he'd been looking forward to all morning right before he got there, and it only got worse from there. 

His printer ran out of ink when he tried to print the already-three-day-late essay for his last class. The printer in the library was out of order, the one on the third floor wasn’t connecting to the computer properly, and when he went to print it in the engineering library he found that he didn’t have any money left on his print card. By the time he got to the English building the dropbox was closed, and he closed his eyes as tears pricked at the corners of them. That’s another five percent off, he thought to himself, slightly hysterical even inside his own head. He left the building, slipped on some ice, and fell into a puddle of slush and had to bite his tongue hard to stop himself from bursting into tears. Walking home, freezing and wet, he finally pulled out his phone and clicked into his DMs. 

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
fuck everything tbh

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
:( what’s up?

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
Ever have those days when the universe says ‘hey you, yeah you, fuck you specifically’

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
Lmaoooo yup  
I have smtg that might make u feel better….  
maybe not tho

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
Shoot

Kent Parson  
@TheRealKentParson  
I’m going to be in Boston next weekend

Bitty stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes widening as he looked down at his phone. Kent couldn’t be… he wouldn’t dare…

_I could get u tickets to the game? If u wanted…_

Bitty stared at the next message, just as stunned. Kent couldn’t seriously think that Bitty would just come down for the game and it wouldn’t _mean_ anything, that it wouldn’t be both of them admitting to something, that they wouldn’t sleep together again.

_nvm it was a dumb idea_

Bitty was replying before he even had the chance to think it through. 

Eric ‘Bitty’ Bittle  
@omgcheckplease  
I can’t come to the game  
but i can meet u for a drink after

_/\\_

Bitty snuck out of the house, the guilt and the feeling of doing something wrong not enough to stop him from getting on the bus to Boston, staring out the window as they drove through the darkness of the early winter evening. _'Cause I know that he knows I'm unfaithful. And it kills him inside_ , Rihanna’s voice comes from his headphones, and he keeps the song playing, mouthing along to every word, each phrase a new self-recrimination. _Our love, his trust, I might as well take a gun and put it to his head_ , he whispers to himself, and he knows he's already made his choice. 

He meets Kent in a bar near his hotel after the game. The first beer was drank in near complete silence, both of them incredibly awkward with each other, hesitant to say too much and give away their hands. The easy familiarity of their frequent messages to each other dissolved in the reality of each other’s presence, the sudden physical reminder of what happened the last time they drank together at a bar. By the second beer however, both had somehow, unexpectedly, managed to slide back into the comfortable rapport they had developed online. Bitty didn’t know how he’d managed, how they’d both settled into their roles, catching himself reaching across the table to flirtily bat at Kent’s arm. Kent drained his beer with a final tilt of his head before turning it on the tabletop, uncertain. Bitty watched him with wary eyes, fairly certain he knew what was coming. He wondered if Kent would bother with pretending, with some polite pretence that would allow them both to lie about what this night meant for just a little longer. 

“Come up to my room?” Kent asked, and Bitty let go of a tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Kent had put a lie between them and what they were doing together. It was the fact that he hadn’t though, that had Bitty agreeing without pause and finishing off his own beer in a swift swallow. 

When Kent slammed Bitty into the wall in the elevator and pushed their mouths together with bruising force, it was with the same kind of brutal honesty that Kent offered him through their online messages. There was no hiding from each other as Kent reached down to rub his hand over Bitty’s groin. There was no space for lies and denial and pretending as Bitty moaned into Kent’s mouth, biting at his lip. Kent’s hand tangled in Bitty’s hair as they kissed, gasping as they ground their hips together. Bitty shoved his leg between Kent’s thighs, sliding it up until it pressed tight against the hardness at Kent’s crotch. This is who I am, Bitty thought to himself, breathing heavily, under it all, this is who Eric Richard Bittle is. 

When the elevator arrived at Kent’s floor they barely separated, stumbling down the hall until they reached the door to Kent’s room. They parted to allow Kent to open the door, Kent laughing as Bitty took the opportunity to appreciatively grab at Kent’s ass. When he finally got the door open they both stumbled forward, barely going a step before Kent was grabbing Bitty and pushing him up against the wall before dropping to his knees. His hands went to Bitty’s jeans, quickly undoing the button and pulling down the zip. 

“Woah!” A surprised voice to their right had both Bitty and Kent freezing, turning their heads to see a man Bitty recognized as Kent’s teammate Viktor Kuznetsov sitting on one of the room’s two beds, staring at them with wide eyes. 

“Hey Kuzz,” Kent said, voice far too calm for Bitty’s tastes as he climbed back to his feet. Bitty ducked his head, half-stepping behind Kent and hoping that Kent’s linemate hadn’t gotten a good look at Bitty’s face. “Thought you were going out for the night.” 

“Decided to stay in,” Kuznetsov said in his heavy accent, familiar to Bitty from post-game interviews. His features were finally beginning to shake of the shock that had frozen them, and a slow grin was crawling its way across his face. “But maybe should not have, da?” Kuznetsov began to climb off his bed. 

“No, Kuzz, you don’t have to, please, don’t go,” Kent said, voice flat, and Kuznetsov laughed. 

“Yes yes,” he said, “I go. You stay and have fun with your boy.” Kuznetsov winked at Bitty, and Bitty tried to duck further behind Kent. Kuznetsov laughed again, grabbing his wallet before heading out with a wave. “I be at bar until close,” he said as he went, “be done fucking before then.” Bitty felt heat shoot up his face as the door closed behind the other man. 

“Oh my goodness,” he groaned, putting his hands over his face. Kent laughed, turning and grabbing at Bitty’s wrists, pulling them away from Bitty’s face and then continuing to tug, guiding him over to the far bed. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Kent said with a crooked grin as he sat down on the bed. “Kuzz won’t say anything to anyone about anything.”

“Are you out to your team?” Bitty asked, taking a step towards Kent before pausing. He hesitates for only a moment. This is who you are, he reminds himself, and he crawls into Kent’s lap, the other man’s eyebrows rising in surprise. 

“Some of them,” Kent says, wrapping his arms around Bitty. “It’s kind of an open secret type thing. They all see me pick up, we just don’t talk about it.” 

“Pick up…?” Bitty asks, trailing off, and Kent laughs. 

“Men and women,” he says, “why do you not…?” He trails off as well, and Bitty sees uncertainty in Kent’s face for the first time since they left the bar. He grinds his hips down onto Kent’s lap in response, smiling at the choked noise Kent makes. 

“Do I not what Mr. Parson?” Bitty whispers, and Kent’s grip on his hips tightens, grinding Bitty down onto the jean-encased erection that is pressed against his ass. 

“We’re wearing too many clothes,” Kent grumbles, and Bitty agrees, standing and stripping while Kent does the same. Bitty climbs back onto the bed first, Kent still struggling to get out of his jeans that look like they were painted on. He leans back against the pillows naked and tries not to find Kent’s battle with his pants endearing. Kent shouts in triumph when he finally gets them off, tossing them at Bitty when he laughs before crawling back onto the bed. 

“What do you want?” He asks, and Bitty taps his tongue against his teeth. 

“I think there was something you were going to do by the door before you got interrupted.”

“Was there?” Kent says, acting surprised. “I don’t remember that… are you sure it wasn’t something you were going to do?” Bitty rolls his eyes, reaching down to shove Kent’s head towards where Bitty’s penis lies hard against his thigh. Kent goes easily, laughing, happily swallowing down Bitty’s dick. Bitty bites his lip against the sensation, the welcome heat of Kent's mouth. His mind flashes to the last time he did this with Jack, weeks ago, before a series of roadies for Jack and essays for Bitty had kept them apart for far too long. Bitty felt guilt crawl up his spine but as he looked down at his hand buried in fine blonde hair, it became removed, second to the pleasure Kent was giving him, to the easy affection that had developed between them. 

‘I’m cheating on Jack,’ Bitty thought to himself, ‘again.’ But the guilt stayed distant and Bitty couldn’t bring himself to be upset that he was becoming numb to the horror of what he was doing to the most important relationship in his life. Then Kent was drawing off of Bitty’s cock and licking down his perineum before he finally reached his hole, pressing his tongue flat against it, and Bitty stopped thinking about Jack altogether. He moaned, arching, and Kent took advantage of the moment to reach up and flip Bitty over onto his stomach. Bitty pulled his legs up under him, tilting his hips back, and Kent grabbed his ass, opening him up to the heat of Kent’s breath ghosting across his hole, to the wet tip of his tongue drawing slow, teasing circles around the rim. When he finally licked in, Bitty’s hands clenched in the sheets and he let out a slow, shuddering moan. His hips jerked as he humped into the air as Kent stretched him first with tongue and then fingers. 

“Please, please,” Bitty said, and Kent pulled back, fingers still thrusting in and out of Bitty. 

“Yeah?” He asked. 

“Please,” Bitty repeated, and Kent reached over to the bedside table. There was the crinkle of foil, and then Kent was pressing into Bitty, slow and thick and inexorable. They were both panting by the time Kent bottomed out, and they stayed frozen for a long moment before Bitty finally rolled his hips backwards. 

“Move,” he said, and Kent’s hips snapped forward helplessly. 

“Oh god,” he said, and began thrusting in earnest, hips driving his cock in and out of Bitty at a furious pace. Kent screwed with all of the anger of the fucked up 18-year-old he had been, with the ferocity of the Stanley Cup-winning athlete he had become. He bit Bitty’s shoulder as he slammed into him and Bitty sobbed into the pillow, fingers frantically clutching at the bedding, searching for something to hold onto as Kent took him apart. If Jack was all gentle touches and softly whispered Québécois, Kent was all hard thrusts that made Bitty want to cry, bitten-off curse words and broken moans of Bitty’s name. When he finally reached around to grab Bitty’s dick it only took two strokes before Bitty was shuddering and coming onto the cheap hotel sheets. 

Kent pulled out to turn him over, Bitty making a face at the sensation of his own come smearing across his back, but was too sated to really care as Kent slid back into him, leaning down to kiss Bitty as he once again began snapping his hips back and forth. His kisses became more sloppy as his movements became more frantic, grip tight on Bitty’s hips as he drove himself in and out of his body. Bitty could only hold on, wrapping his arms around Kent’s shoulders as the other man fucked Bitty into the mattress, Bitty moaning openly as it became almost too much and still Kent was going. 

“God,” Kent says, voice shaking. “God, Bitty, fuck, Bitty, _Bitty_ ” he says, and comes, hip driving forward a final time. He hangs above Bitty for a moment, braced on shaking arms, before reaching down between them, keeping a hold of the condom as he pulls out of Bitty. He gets up, going into the bathroom, coming back with a wet cloth, wiping down Bitty’s back with it. Finally, Kent collapses on the bed next to Bitty, who was still lying there, staring up at the ceiling with a hand thrown across his forehead. 

“Fuck,” he says with feeling, and Kent laughs. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, sounding smug, and Bitty smacks him in the chest. Kent laughs. 

“Shit,” Bitty says, “I don’t want to move.” He pauses. “I’m not sure I _can_ move.” 

“Don’t,” Kent says, curling around Bitty, throwing an arm over his waist and tucking his face into the hair behind Bitty’s ear. “Stay.” 

“I can’t,” Bitty says, “you have a roommate remember? One that’s coming back from the bar soon.”

“C’mon,” Kent says, “it’s fine, you can stay. Kuzz is used to it.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Bitty moans, making Kent laugh again. He reluctantly drops his hands as Kent pulls him back towards him. “I’m just another in a long line of… of _trollops_ aren’t I?” 

“Trollops?” Kent asks, biting his lip to visibly keep himself from laughing. 

“Hush,” Bitty says, waving his hand. Kent pulled him into a kiss, far gentler than the ones they had shared earlier, before pulling back. 

“You’re not,” he whispered, and Bitty pulled back with a confused frown. 

“Not what?” He asked. 

“Not just another ‘trollop’.” Bitty frowned at him, ignoring the obvious scare quotes. 

“Don’t,” he says harshly, pulling himself from Kent’s arms as he sits up, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. 

“Bitty,” Kent starts, but Bitty cuts him off. 

“We can’t– I can’t– I have a _boyfriend_ remember?” Bitty doesn’t have to look at Kent to see him wince at Bitty’s words. 

“I remember,” Kent says softly, “I just wonder if he does.”

“Don’t,” Bitty snaps, whirling to look at him, “don’t talk about him like that, you don’t know, you don’t– you don’t even understand, how…” Bitty trails off, speechless in his anger, and Kent sits up, looking at Bitty with an intense expression on his face. 

“I do though,” Kent says. “I understand Bitty. I understand _you_.” 

Bitty bursts into tears. 

_/\\_

By the time Kuznetsov gets back, both Kent and Bitty are asleep, Kent curled around Bitty. Kuznetsov smiles over at their sleeping forms. He hopes Parson keeps this one, he seems nice, and lord knows Parson could use something nice in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tense consistency is for losers. 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. Life, etc.
> 
> If the link isn't working, the song Kent tweets is Oh No! by Marina and the Diamonds
> 
> Additional shout out to Helen for being a human disaster and the inspiration for Bitty's struggles with printing his essay
> 
> Oh, and this might be six chapters instead of five because this chapter got a bit out of hand and didn't end where I had planned


	5. I feel it in the air

_In the beginning, there were two boys in love._

Something is wrong.

Jack doesn’t know what, but he knows Bitty, knows their relationship, how things feel between them and he knows that it’s never felt like this before. The problem is, he’s not sure how to fix it, how to ask Bitty about it. He’s so afraid that he’ll ask and Bitty will tell him that there’s nothing wrong, that it’s all in Jack’s head, just him being crazy as usual. Bitty has always been so sweet about his anxiety, but that doesn’t really make a difference to the monster clawing underneath his ribcage telling him he’s fucking everything up. 

He knows he’s been snappish with Bitty lately, that his stupid hours and long days have led to him pulling away from Bitty more than once. All he can do is apologize though, and remind himself that Bitty still fell in love with him even after how Jack treated him Bitty’s freshman year. Bitty has seen the worst of him, Jack tells himself, and still manages to love the best of him. They can get through this, they have to get through this. Bitty understands him in ways no one else ever has and Jack has to have faith in that. That Bitty can see through his bullshit, through whatever lack of sleep and stress makes him hiss out between clenched teeth. 

Being in a closeted long-distance relationship was always going to be hard, but halfway through the first year was when Jack really began to realize just how hard it was going to be. He was no good with words, didn’t know what to say to Bitty to let him know what Jack was thinking, how he was feeling. When Bitty was there, when he was in the room with him, that was when Jack knew how to say how much he loves him, speaking through smiles and touches to elbows and kisses pressed to Bitty’s forehead. When he was gone, when Jack was on a roadie and Bitty was back at Samwell, that was when it got difficult. When words died on Jack’s tongue, unspoken. He didn’t know what to say, but he loved Bitty so much, pressed it into Bitty’s spine with his fingertips late at night as his boyfriend slept, wrote it between the lines of his texts, whispered it into the early morning sunlight as he ran through Providence. 

The fights were a symptom of what was wrong, Jack knew that much. There was so much he couldn’t change about their situation though, didn’t understand why Bitty got upset about him having to go to things with the team without Bitty, about him talking around his “girlfriend” with Tater on Falcs TV. Because when they had started going out, Jack had talked to Bitty about the fact that they would have to stay in the closet, that neither Jack nor his career could take the pressure of coming out this soon after him joining the NHL. Bitty had said he understood, that he would be okay, that he loved Jack, that Jack was worth it. But staring at the door Bitty had just slammed behind him, storming out after telling Jack that Jack was abandoning him by going to something with the team, Jack isn’t sure that Bitty was telling the truth. 

It’s after that fight that things begin to go strange. Even through all their previous fights, they were still _them_. Jack and Bitty, whatever that meant. It was familiar, it was built on years of being on the same team, living in the same house. It was knowing and loving someone else, even as you fought with them, even as you struggled with dating long-distance. After that fight though, Bitty stopped fighting with him, stopped snapping back at Jack when it was late at night and Jack, exhausted, lost his patience. He stopped telling Jack his stories about his life and Jack didn’t know how to ask him why, how to ask Bitty for something that he had previously given so freely, if he should even ask for those parts of Bitty if he wasn’t offering them up to Jack. 

When Bitty finally did snap back at him after Jack missed a phone date, brain fogged with exhaustion and hockey, hockey, hockey, Jack felt more relieved than anything. _Back to normal,_ he thought to himself, then felt sick. When had fighting become their normal? How had this become their relationship? Because he knew he still loved Bitty more than anything, but the circumstances they were in wore at his nerves like a slowly grinding stone. When he looked at Bitty and saw the exhaustion hiding in the corners of his eyes, he suspected that Bitty felt the same. Then, just as suddenly as Bitty had returned to normal, he changed again. 

This was the problem that Jack was currently struggling with. This was what was wrong. 

Because Bitty was happy, happier than he’d been since he had returned to school in the fall. He laughed and smiled when Skyping with Jack, the dark circles under his eyes faded, he had more energy, baking circles around Jack every time he came down. He still wasn’t telling Jack about his life, but he didn’t seem to need Jack to ask, not anymore. Instead, he asks Jack about his life and Jack, dazzled by the light and warmth of Bitty’s smile, tells him. Bitty grins back at him, soft and warm, and tells Jack that he loves him. Still, his anxiety whispers _wrong wrong wrong_ , and Jack feels like he’s going crazy. 

There is a gnawing pit in his stomach where his anxiety lives that won’t stop asking him questions that make him feel like he is slowly shreading their relationship. Is Bitty really pulling away from him? Is he lying when he tells Jack that everything is still fine? That he loves Jack? Is it something Jack has done, is doing? Is there something he should be doing? Why is this happening? Why is Jack such a fuckup? How does he always manage to ruin the most important thing in his life, the thing that matters to him the most? 

Will he lose Bitty?

Sometimes Bitty looks at Jack with such sadness in his eyes it makes Jack feel sick. Sometimes Bitty says goodbye to Jack like he’s saying goodbye forever and Jack doesn’t know how to deal with it, how to ask Bitty what is wrong. He feels like he’s losing Bitty but he doesn’t know what to do about it, how to claw back from this edge he feels like he’s slipping over. 

Then, one Wednesday afternoon in late March, Shitty sitting next to him on the couch, Jack turns on the television and sees Bitty and Parse stumbling out of a club, and the pit in his stomach swallows him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter before everything falls apart.


	6. And I know that he knows I'm unfaithful

Bitty had known that Kent was going to be playing against the Bruins in late March since the start of the season, but he hadn’t let himself assume that would mean anything. He didn’t bring it up, and neither did Kent, until two days before the game when Kent texted him a screenshot of a hotel’s webpage and a series of question marks. 

Bitty 4:15pm  
????

KP 4:15pm  
We’re playing the bruins tues  
I don’t have to be back in vegas until thurs  
I can fuck u into the mattress w out having to worry abt Kuznetsov lol

Bitty stared at those words for only a moment before sending him back the monkey-covering-its-eyes emoji, followed by the peach emoji. Kent sent him back the eggplant and the water droplets and Bitty laughed and rolled his eyes. _This shithead_ , he thought fondly. 

Bitty 4:21pm  
text me the room details, I’ll meet u there after the game

Locking his phone, he tossed it back onto the bed, spinning himself slightly in his desk chair. His eyes flicked without his permission to the lego figurine that Jack had given him all those months ago. He tilted his head, considering it. The guilt that he had been happily numbed to for a few months had begun to grow in his chest again. He absent-mindedly rubbed at his sternum as he looked from that figurine to the calendar next to his desk, Kent’s games now marked in red to match Jack’s blue. His mind kept flickering back to the same thought, over and over again. 

_Maybe I should end it._

The thought had been invading his mind more and more over the last few months. At first, he’d been thinking about Kent. But lately, it had been Jack’s face that popped into his head more often when he thought of how to claw himself out of the mess he’d ensnared himself in. He still loved Jack, the same love he’d felt looking at Jack in the Haus kitchen, covered in flour. The same love he’d felt when Jack had kissed him in his empty room, tears still drying on Bitty’s face. The same love he’d felt the first time they’d had sex, fireworks lighting up the night sky above their heads. 

He still loved Jack. He just wasn’t sure he could bear to date him anymore.

Still, he hesitated, endlessly running through the same scenarios and winding twists of logic. He still loved Jack, he didn’t love Kent. Staying with Jack was hurting him more and more in ways that he didn’t know how to fix. Kent supported him, was sweet and payed attention to Bitty, his feelings and what was going on in his life both. Jack loved him, he was Bitty’s first and Bitty had thought he was going to be his forever. He cared about Kent more than he ever thought he would grow to. He thought he might be able to love him one day, maybe, if he let himself. He could still salvage his relationship with Jack, if he broke it off with Kent, if he tried harder. 

He didn’t know how he could try harder. 

With an abrupt shake of his head, he stood, leaving his desk chair spinning as he snatched his phone off the bed, heading downstairs. If he was going to worry himself into a frenzy of indecision, he might as well do it while making pies.

_/\\_

Bitty swiped the key card that Kent had left at the front desk for him, pushing the door open when the light turned green. He’s barely stepped inside when a large form barrelled at him out of the darkness of the room. The little involuntary noise that escaped his mouth most certainly wasn’t a scream, thank you very much, and then he was pressed against the wall, his vision filled with blonde hair as Kent buried his nose in Bitty’s hair, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Missed you,” he muttered, and Bitty laughed. 

“Missed you too hun,” he said, voice fond. “Now, get off of me.” Kent released him with a laugh that was more a huff of air than anything. He stepped back, and Bitty finally got a good look at him. This far into the season, he was beginning to look far more lean, cheeks hollowing out as he dropped weight and muscle mass. His hair was just as wild as ever, cowlick sending his blonde hair flying away from his face, made worse when he ran his hand through it, ducking his head under the force of Bitty’s scrutiny. 

“So,” Kent said, “d’you wanna get dinner first or-”

“Wait...” Bitty paused in the middle of shrugging off his coat and dropping it on the floor. “...are you serious?” Kent looked at him for a moment, face serious.

“Yes Bittle. I would much rather order up shitty room service than have sex with you.”

“Well, you’ve got to have your priorities,” Bitty replied, equally straight-faced, which was apparently too much for Kent, who broke into a large grin. Bitty laughed, pulling off his shirt as he walked past Kent before pausing to turn back and look at the other man. Making sure Kent’s eyes were on him, he slowly bend over, pulling his pants and briefs down as he did, giving Kent what he _knew_ was a damn fine view. He was rewarded with a quick inhale of breath behind him and, when he stood up, Kent’s eyes meeting his own, dark and hot.

“Maybe the food can wait after all,” Kent said, pulling off his own shirt as he followed Bitty back into the bedroom. Kent stripped off the rest of his clothing as quickly as his impatient fingers would allow him while Bitty climbed onto the bed and settled against the pillows. A bottle of lube and condom package landed on the blankets next to him, quickly followed by Kent. The other man crawled onto the bed, leaning in for a soft kiss that started sweet and quickly turned filthy. 

“Fuck,” Bitty finally gasped, pulling back from Kent, eyes slightly unfocused. “I need you to fuck me,” he said, and Kent moaned against his lips. 

“Yeah,” he said, “gonna fuck you.” He grabbed ahold of Bitty’s legs, pulling them so they were draped to either side of Kent’s legs. One hand stayed at the small of Bitty’s back, keeping him in place, while the other reached down to wrap around Bitty’s cock where it rested against his thigh. Bitty groaned, arching up into the feel of Kent’s fingers slipping across his skin, thumb reaching up to rub against the tip, coaxing out a drop of precum. He didn’t linger though, quickly relinquishing his hold on Bitty’s dick in favour of sliding his hand down and back until he could rub the pad of a finger against the tight furl of Bitty’s hole. 

Bitty groaned again, then squeaked when Kent almost dropped him trying to get the lube open and on his fingers. A combination of quick reflexes and strength saved Bitty from being rather unceremoniously dumped back onto the bed, and soon Kent was rubbing lube across Bitty’s hole while the other man ground back onto him. 

“C’mon,” Bitty whined, and Kent laughed, nipping at Bitty’s ear as he increased the pressure until his finger finally popped inside of Bitty. 

“Like that?” He asked, and Bitty slapped at his shoulder, dropping his head to rest his forehead against Kent’s collarbone. 

“Move, you bastard,” he muttered into Kent’s skin, and Kent laughed before giving in to Bitty’s request, sliding his finger in and out of the other man. 

“Oh god,” Bitty groaned, feeling Kent’s breath against his neck, soft kisses punctured by moans and whispered words. Kent’s finger was wide and rough and everything that Bitty had wanted, and it just got better when Kent added a second finger, scissoring into Bitty. Bitty was only vaguely aware of the noises he was making, whines and half-stuttered pleads for more, more, too focused on the feeling of Kent’s fingers inside of him, Kent’s soft words whispered into Bitty’s ear. He rolled his hips back towards Kent’s insistent fingers, three of them now.

“Please,” he gasped again, and this time Kent nodded, the movement of his head sharp as he removed his fingers, allowing Bitty to slide down onto the bed as he rolled a condom down onto his cock. 

“C’mere,” he said, words half-slurred with arousal, and Bitty turned over, limbs shaking with want as he pushed himself onto his knees. Kent’s hands curled around his hips, palms hot against his sweaty skin and Bitty yelped in surprise when he pulled Bitty back into his lap. He quickly settled into the new position, leaning his back against Kent’s chest and tilting his head back. The head of Kent’s cock nudged against Bitty’s crack, sliding up past his hole, and Kent huffed in frustration, dropping one hand to grab ahold of the base of his dick. He guided it into Bitty’s waiting hole, and both men groaned. Bitty let his head fall back against Kent’s shoulder as he slowly slid down onto the other man’s cock. One of his hands dropped on top of Kent’s hand on his waist, the other rising over his shoulder to wind into Kent’s hair. Kent returned his other hand to Bitty’s hip as the two men sat for a long moment, each taking deep, shuddery breaths as they adjusted. Bitty could feel the hot gusts of Kent’s breath against the back of his neck, and it made him shiver as he finally rolled his hips, making Kent groan. 

“Fuck me Parson,” he says, and Kent does. 

His grip on Bitty’s hips tightening is all the warning Bitty has before he’s being lifted and shoved back down onto Kent’s lap, and he moans, loud and helpless. Kent’s breath was hot and loud next to his ear as he slammed in and out of Bitty, their thighs sliding together as he jerked Bitty back and forth in his lap. 

“Fuck yeah, babe, fuck, so good for me,” Kent gasps, setting Bitty off into his own mumbled string of praise.

“You’re so good, Kent, sweetheart, so fucking amazing, just like– ah!” Bitty broke off as Kent suddenly pushed him forward, Bitty’s head abruptly braced between his elbows on the bed as Kent used their new position to slide deeper into him. He was fucking into Bitty deeper and harder, and Bitty couldn’t help but reach between his legs, stroking his own dick with rough movements. His breath was being punched out of him in little gasps as Kent fucked in and out of him, his slurred words of praise pressed into the sheets and near unintelligible. Suddenly, Kent was reaching around, wrapping his hand around Bitty’s on his cock. 

“Come for me Bits,” he said against Bitty’s ear, voice rough, and Bitty cried out as he came against the sheets. “Fuck,” Kent swore, continuing to slam into Bitty, pace beginning to stutter as he chased his own release. It wasn’t long before he was following Bitty, biting the pillow next to Bitty’s head to stop himself from latching onto Bitty’s shoulder.

The only sound in the room was their harsh breaths for a long moment, before Kent sighed and slowly pulled out of Bitty. Bitty lay there as Kent cleaned up around him, only moving when Kent nudged against his shoulder. Bitty rolled so he was curled around Kent, tucking his head next to Kent’s chest. 

“Fuck, I needed that,” Bitty murmured, staring up at the ceiling, and he felt rather than heard Kent laugh. 

“Well I haven’t had sex since you came down to Vegas,” Kent said easily, “So if anyone should have been desperate for it, it really should have been me.” Bitty’s lips twitched up in an involuntarily smile at the memory of that weekend, the pool and sun and Kent well worth all of the lies needed to get him there – to his parents, his friends… Jack. Then he thought about it for a moment longer, and frowned, raising his head to look at up at Kent.

“That was over a month ago,” Bitty said, and Kent shrugged. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“You’re… you’re not sleeping with anyone else?” Kent shot him a wary look. 

“You said you didn’t want me to talk about it.”

“About what? You sleeping with other people?”

“That you aren’t just another hookup to me.” 

“I’m still fucking Jack,” Bitty blurted out without really meaning to, but Kent didn’t even blink. “I had sex with him last week.”

“Yeah?” Kent said, looking confused. “He is your boyfriend.” 

“Don’t you care?” Bitty asked, and Kent blew out a harsh breath, reaching up to tangle his fingers in his hair as his head thumped back onto the pillow. 

“What, that you have a boyfriend?” Kent said, before gesturing over both of their naked bodies, tangled in the damp sheets. “Does it look like I care?” 

“Really?” Bitty asked, propping himself up further. “You don’t care that you’re… you’re a… a homewrecker?” Kent burst out laughing, and Bitty couldn’t help the way his own lips twitched up at the corners. 

“Boys and their toys and their six inch rockets,” Kent sings, wildly off key, rolling into Bitty and burying his head in the crook of Bitty’s neck when the other man began to laugh. “We're all very lovely 'til we get to know each other, as we stop becoming friends and we start becoming lovers.”

“And I don’t belong to anyone,” Bitty half-sang, pulling back to look Kent. Kent snorted, shaking his head. 

“No,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of Bitty’s neck, “no, you do not.” There was a pause, and then Kent snorted again. 

“A homewrecker… Jesus Bitty. You would call me that.” There was a long moment of silence in which Bitty debated if he should push or just let the question lie. Kent surprised him though, taking a deep breath before speaking again. 

“I wanted to hurt him.” Bitty inhaled sharply, and Kent turned to look at him. “At first, I just wanted to hurt him. I did want you too, from the first time I saw you at that party with Zimms. I was so jealous of you but also you were so hot and… and then at the bar, that night, I could… I could see me in you, what he did to me, what he’s doing to you, and I just… I wish someone had been there for me, back then. But also I wanted to hurt him.” He sighed, turning back to look at the ceiling. “But I didn’t know… I didn’t expect it to be like this, with you. I didn’t expect you to be so… Bitty.” 

“In all fairness,” Bitty said on a soft laugh, trying his best not to cry, “I didn’t expect you to be so Kent either.” 

“I’ve never been the person someone cheated on someone else with though,” Kent said, sounding thoughtful. “I’ve cheated and been cheated on but I’ve never been… the mistress.” 

“Does it bother you?” Bitty asks again.

“I just said-” Kent started, turning to look at him, but Bitty shook his head. 

“No, not that you’re the ‘other woman’–” Bitty only managed to get one arm free from the tangle of their limbs to trace quotation marks in the air, “–that I have a boyfriend and it isn’t you.” Bitty laid his hand down on Kent’s chest, watching as a complicated wave of emotions flash across Kent’s face.

“Of course I care,” Kent finally said. “Fuck, Bitty, how could I not care? You’re incredible and I just want to… I want to be around you all the time, want to give you everything. But you love him, I know that, I know I’m not really… I’m not good enough for you,” he concluded with a sharp laugh, and Bitty frowned as he sat up completely. 

“You’re plenty good enough sweetheart,” he said, and Kent laughed again. 

“Right. That’s why you’re going to leave him.” The silence stretched on uncomfortably long before Bitty finally took a deep breath to reply. “No,” Kent said, cutting him off before he had the chance, “sorry, I didn’t mean that. I don’t expect you to leave him. Not for me.” Bitty stared at Kent for a long moment. 

“Maybe I should,” he said, and Kent sat up then, eyes going wide. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Maybe I should leave Jack for you,” Bitty said. Kent blinked at him, once, twice, then abruptly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Kent?” Bitty asked, trying not to freak out as Kent strode away from him. 

“I think this conversation requires alcohol,” Kent said, bending down at the mini-fridge before turning back around with the entire contents of the mini-bar in his arms, “Don’t you?” 

“Yes please,” Bitty says thankfully, tapping his tiny bottle of tequila against Kent’s before they both swallow half of their bottles, Bitty’s face screwing up at the taste. There’s a moment of awkward silence, before Bitty takes a deep breath. 

“Would you want to be with me, if I left him?” He asked, and Kent laughed, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, then finished his bottle, Bitty following suit. “Fuck Bits, why wouldn’t I? You’re amazing. And–” he adds with a wry grin, “–you may have noticed this, but I don’t really do anything by halves.”

“Kent all-or-nothing Parson,” Bitty says, and they clink their second bottles together, vodka this time. Kent hesitates before speaking again, looking down at his hands. 

“Would you really want to be with me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said with a snort, looking back up, “but I’m kinda a mess.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Bitty said, “if there’s anything the last year has proven, it’s that I’m pretty messy myself.” Kent laughs at that, and they both drink. 

“You love him,” Kent says, voice soft. 

“I do,” Bitty says, and they open the bottles of rum. 

“He’s making you miserable,” Kent adds. 

“He is,” Bitty agrees, and swallows down the burn of the truth with the burn of alcohol. 

“I can’t… I’m not good for people,” Kent says, “I wish to god I could say I’d make you happy but Bits, I just… I can’t make that promise.”

“I don’t need you to promise me that,” Bitty says, hesitating before continuing. “No one can promise that. I’d just… I’d just need you to promise to try.” Kent looks at Bitty, looks at the bottle in his hand, and drinks the whole thing. 

“Look at what I did to Zimms,” he says, so softly that Bitty almost doesn’t catch it. Kent finds himself with a lap full of Bitty as soon as Bitty’s finished running the words through his head, moving without really thinking about it. 

“What happened to Jack wasn’t your fault,” he says into the skin of Kent’s shoulder. 

“You don’t know,” Kent said into Bitty’s neck, “you don’t know what I did.” 

“I know enough,” Bitty said, pulling back to look Kent in the eyes, “I know _you_.” He added, and Kent’s expression might have been funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice choked. “I guess you do.”

“I think we’ve seen the worst of each other,” Bitty says with a half-smile as he settles back into the sheets, relinquishing his hold on Kent. “Do you think that makes a good basis for a relationship?”

“Oh it’s a relationship now is it?” Kent teases, obviously trying to lighten the mood in a way that makes Bitty’s chest go tight with affection. They sit in silence for a moment before Kent breaks it again. 

“I don’t know if seeing the worst of each other would be the problem. But maybe… maybe we are the worst of each other.” Bitty frowned. 

“Do you really think that?” He asks, and Kent begins to shake his head before Bitty’s even finished asking the question. 

“No. But I don’t… Bits, I don’t want you to have to tear your life apart for me. You shouldn’t have to make that choice, go through that for me.” Bitty gazes at him for a moment, stare clear despite the alcohol beginning to swim through his head. 

“Let’s get one thing very clear Mr. Parson. I wouldn’t do it for you,’ he says, “I’d do it for me.” Kent makes a hurt sort of noise, pulling Bitty into him, burying his face in Bitty’s neck. 

“I love you,” Kent whispers, and shudders. 

“I think I could love you,” Bitty admits, pressing his lips against Kent’s shoulder. Kent takes a breath that is half a sob, and Bitty has to close his eyes against the tears that threaten to well in his eyes. 

“I’m scared,” Kent admits.

“Me too,” Bitty says. The two men sit, clinging to each other for a long moment before Bitty abruptly pulls away, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. “Enough of that!” He says, clapping his hands together. “More alcohol!” Kent laughs, leaning back against the headboard, accepting another bottle from Bitty as the smaller man curls up against him and compliments him on his last minute goal in the third. It’s forced and awkward but the sway of the alcohol makes it easier for them to move past the intensity of their conversation. It’s only after they’ve finished off all of the bottles in the mini-fridge however, that they realize it’s almost midnight, they haven’t yet eaten, and are well on their way to being smashed. 

“Well shit,” Kent says, from where he’s standing naked next to the bedside table, looking down at the hotel’s room service menu. “The kitchen closed two hours ago.” Bitty hums, not really paying attention to what Kent is saying, gaze fixed on the way the lamp next to the bed catches on Kent’s abs. “Hey!” Kent says suddenly close, waving the menu in front of Bitty’s face. “Stop objectifying me! We’re gonna have to go out and get food.” Bitty groaned, but dragged himself out of the bed, reluctantly dressing and trailing behind Kent to the elevators. 

“Where the fuck are we gonna get food at this time of night?” He grumbled as they stumbled out into the street. “I swear to God Kent Parson if you try to drag me into a McDonalds…” he trails off as Kent perks up, something down the street catching his eye. 

“Hey, hotdogs!” Kent says, and takes off down the road. 

“That’s worse!” Bitty shouts after him, but follows him anyways. He accepts the hotdog from the vendor that Kent buys for him without further comment, though he does eye up the cart, trying not to think about how long it’s probably been since it was cleaned. They eat sitting on the curb in front of the hotel, and Bitty chirps Kent when he gets up to get two more, laughs when Kent tries to make a grab for the last half of Bitty’s one. 

“C’mon Bits,” Kent whines, a smirk twisting the edges of his mouth. “I’m hungry,” he says, drawing out the word. 

“There is no way you are still hungry Kenneth Virgil-”

“That’s not even my name!”

“-Parson.” Kent rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile. Bitty sways lightly against his side, suddenly aware of how drunk he was. 

“Bro,” Kent says, nudging him. 

“Hm?” Bitty asks, looking up at him. 

“Bro. We should go dancing.” Bitty follows Kent’s sightline to a club across the street from them, the thrum of base just barely audible, a cluster of smokers standing just to the side of the bouncers. 

“Um, _yes_ ,” Bitty says, only stumbling slightly when he stands. Kent laughs, grabbing his hand and dragging him across the road. They separate as Kent pays their cover and they make their way into the club. Bitty manages to get through the crowd at the bar, Kent following closely behind him. 

“Four tequila shots,” he shouts towards the bartender, turning his head when Kent nudges his back. Kent raises his eyebrow, and Bitty shrugs. 

“The less times I have to do this the better,” he shouts at him, and Kent laughs, nodding. Despite Bitty’s protestations, he pays for the shots too. Bitty’s head is swimming before he even takes the first one, meeting Kent’s eyes as he licks the salt off the back of his hand, watching how, even in the darkness of the club, Kent’s pupils dilate. He can’t help but shiver, leaning into the other men, and Kent grins down at him wolfishly. 

“Let’s dance,” he says, and they do. 

_/\\_

Bitty wakes up the next morning, stumbles out of bed, and vomits in the bathroom sink. 

“Jesus,” he hears Kent groan from the bed, and he turns around to see the other man squinting over at him, bedhead making him look ridiculous. He has a huge hickey on his neck that Bitty doesn’t remember putting there, and Bitty thinks he might still be a bit drunk. “How fucking much did we drink?” Kent asks, almost falling out of the bed as he tries to get himself out of the tangle of the sheets. He comes over to where Bitty is leaning heavily against the bathroom counter as the other man begins running the water, rinsing out the sink, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Couldn’t even make it to the toilet eh?” Kent chirps weakly as he pisses. 

“I’m dying,” Bitty says flatly, and Kent laughs, then winces. 

“Fuck,” he says as he and Bitty trade places, Kent briefly washing his hands as Bitty uses the toilet then brushes his teeth. By the time Bitty comes back into the main room, Kent’s already begun rummaging through their clothing from the night before. 

Bitty collapses back into the bed, not in any hurry to find his own phone, which is probably dead anyways, since he clearly had forgotten to plug it in after the previous night. Kent finally makes a triumphant noises, standing with both of their phones in hand, tossing Bitty his while he goes to plug in his own. Bitty glances at his screen – he was right, it was dead – then lets his fall back down on the pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the daylight. 

He can’t see what Kent is doing but he hears the chime of his phone turning back on. The chime has only just faded when it is replaced by the buzz of incoming notifications. It buzzes and buzzes and then just… doesn’t stop. 

“Jesus Kent, how many messages could you have gotten since last night?” Bitty asks, peering out at Kent from under his arm. Kent frowns in confusion as he looks down at the phone.

“I don’t-” Kent starts, still frowning down at his phone, before suddenly cutting himself off as he swipes across the screen and lifts the phone up to his ear. 

“Hey, Jeff, what-” Kent stops talking, face going white, and Bitty sits in alarm, groaning when the sudden movement makes his head spin. He can’t hear what the person on the other side of the line is saying, but Kent’s face transforms from surprised to horrified. 

“Kent?” Bitty asks, and Kent jerks his vision over to Bitty. 

“Fuck,” he says, then turns, bending down to scoop his pants off of the hotel floor. “No, no, not you Jeff. Yeah, he’s still here. No, I’ve got to get him out of- yeah, I know-” he pauses, turning and tossing Bitty’s shirt at him. “Get dressed Bits,” he says, and the urgency in his voice has Bitty out of bed despite the protestations of his entire body. “I fucking know-” Kent continues into the phone as he gets dressed as well, briefly pulling his phone away from his ear as he tugs on a shirt. “Yeah, I fucking get it, just let me take care of him okay? I’ll be there soon… I’ll have to book a flight and...” He pauses, sighing and rubbing his head in frustration. “I’ll call you,” he finally says, before hanging up, shoulders dropping. 

“Sweetheart?” Bitty asks cautiously, and Kent turns to look at him, a devastated look on his face. 

“Bitty,” Kent says, voice wrecked. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “There was… last night, there are… there’s photos. They’re everywhere.” 

Bitty has to run to the bathroom again but this time, as he spits out nothing more than bile, he’s not vomiting because of a hangover. 

_/\\_

They talk while Kent drives Bitty from Boston back to Samwell, cover logistics and whether or not it’ll be possible to keep the press from figuring out who Bitty is. They speak in strange clipped tones, sentence fragments that string together into something like a plan. In between, they sit in pained silence, Kent tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. Bitty still hasn’t turned his phone back on, twisting it in his fingers as he fights the urge to cry. 

He feels numb. He feels sick. 

Whatever he thought would happen, however he thought things would end up between him and Jack, between him and Kent, he’d never spent a minute to consider this: that he and Kent would get drunk and stupid and get photographed making out in a club in Boston, MA. After Kent had told him what had happened he had asked Bitty what he wanted Kent to do. 

“What is there to do?” Bitty had asked, voice flat and distant. Kent looked like he was going to cry. “Take me home,” Bitty finally said, and Kent got them out the back entrance of the hotel and into his rental car. 

His relationship with Jack was over, Bitty knew that. There was no way Jack hadn’t – or wouldn’t – see this news. And maybe Bitty could convince him it was just the one time, that it would never happen again, that it hadn’t meant anything but… As Bitty sat in the passenger side of Kent Parson’s ridiculously flashy rental car, stomach churning, he decided he was done lying. Whatever happened now, the truth was out there, and he would deal with the consequences, no matter what they were. And those consequences weren’t just his, Bitty thought, glancing over at Kent, at the line of his jaw, clenched with tension, the strain of his hands against the wheel. 

Kent was now the first out player in the NHL, not because he’d wanted to be, not because he’d chosen to be, but because a stranger in a club had taken photos of him kissing a boy. Bitty. It would be all over the news and- oh _god_ his parents. It takes Kent saying his name twice for Bitty to realize he said that out loud. 

“I’m not out,” he says, feeling distant and numb, “To my parents I mean. They don’t know that I’m gay.” 

“ _Fuck,_ ” Kent swears, then swears again. “Fuck! I’m so sorry Bitty, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have- I should never have-”

“This isn’t your fault Kent,” Bitty says, and he means it, he does, he knows this isn’t on Kent, at least not wholly, but he can’t feel it right now. He can’t feel much of anything. It’s like he’s floating outside of his body, like what is happening is happening to someone else, a stranger he doesn’t know. 

“If they kick me out, I’m coming to live with you,” he says, and he means it as a joke, a threat he’d never follow through with, but he bursts into tears the second the words leave his mouth and oh… there’s all the feelings he wasn’t able to feel a moment ago, pouring through him. Fear and anger and panic and more fear. 

“You can,” Kent says, jaw hard as he stares out the windshield. Bitty blinks at him, the tears stopping as abruptly as they started. 

“Will you be okay?” He finally asks, choosing to ignore that for now. Kent shrugs. 

“Management’s known for a while. We’ll deal with it. I’ll deal with it.” 

“I don’t want you to lose hockey because of me,” Bitty says, and there’s the fear again, sharp on his tongue. 

“I won’t,” Kent says, shaking his head. “Bitty, I won’t.” He pauses, then continues, a half smile on his face, “It’s a good thing I’ve got such good medical coverage though because I suspect I’m about to take a lot of fucking dirty checks.” Bitty feels his heart clench and an involuntary sort of whimper escapes his lips.

“You’re worth it though,” Kent says, glancing out of the side of his eyes at Bitty, “I know that’s not fair, not right now, not with everything that you’re probably feeling but… you are worth it.” Bitty shakes his head. He knows that’s not true, that Kent is just being nice, but he can’t think of what to say to convince Kent otherwise. So he says nothing, and they ride the rest of the way to Samwell in silence. 

_/\\_

When they turned up the street towards the house, Bitty and Kent both let out massive sighs of relief. Bitty hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about the prospect of reporters already being at his home until he saw they weren’t there. Kent was able to pull up right at the curb, climbing out to hand Bitty his duffle from the backseat. 

“Do you want me to…?” He asks, jerking his chin towards the house. Bitty follows his line of sight, looking back at the Haus, before turning back to Kent and shaking his head. 

“No, not right now. I think it’ll be best if I just… I need…” He can’t get a sentence out, but it’s okay, Kent’s already nodding along. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’ll just-” he cuts himself off when a door slams loudly just behind them and they both turn to see Jack striding towards them, Shitty climbing out of the driving seat of the truck now parked just behind Kent’s car. Shitty looks worried, and Jack just looks… blank. 

Bitty doesn’t know what to do, what he’s going to say. He opens his mouth, bracing himself, with no idea what he might say… but it turns out he doesn’t need to worry about that because Jack doesn’t say anything to either him or Kent. Instead, he strides straight past Bitty and then his fist is hitting Kent’s jaw with a sickening smack. Kent stumbles back, and Jack follows, getting in two more hits before Kent manages to get his feet under him, swinging back at Jack. Kent gets in one good hit of his own before Shitty is suddenly between them. 

“Hey!” He shouts, shoving the two men apart. “Enough!” Kent is cursing, wiping blood off of his mouth and Jack is breathing hard, fist clenching and unclenching at his sides as he stares at the other man. Bitty blinks at them, then turns at the sound of feet hitting wooden steps. Chowder, Dex, and Nursey have all piled out of the Haus, and are now standing in front of the steps, looking nervous and uncertain. He shakes his head at them, trying to signal them to go back inside, but they just look back at him. A shout from behind him – Shitty’s voice saying ‘hey!’ – has him spinning back towards his boyfriend and his… and Kent. He turns just in time to see Jack try to hit Kent over Shitty’s shoulder. 

“Fuck!” Shitty shouts, “Jack! Enough! He isn’t worth it.” Jack is shaking, but he stops. Kent is looking at him, eyes wide, blood smeared across his face. Abruptly, his eyes swing to Bitty and Bitty feels himself stiffen even before Jack’s head begins to turn, tracking Kent’s gaze back to Bitty. Bitty swallows as he finally meets Jack’s eyes and sees all of the pain and anger there. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers before he thinks about it. “I’m so sorry, Jack, I’m so so sorry.” 

“Maybe we should take this inside?” Shitty asks, voice nervous as he looks back and forth between Bitty and Jack.

“Why-” Jack asks, ignoring Shitty. His voice cracks in the middle, “Why would you… Bits, how could you?” and Bitty thinks he’s going to throw up again. He watches Shitty’s eyes widen in realization as he looks back and forth between them, and Bitty distantly wonders what he had thought, driving Jack here. Did he think Jack was just angry at Kent for being with Bitty? That he was mad as a former teammate who thought a friend was being taken advantage of, and not as a boyfriend who had just been cheated on? Bitty takes a moment to mourn for that time before Shitty realized who Bitty was. What a horrible person he turned out to really be, deep inside. He looks at Shitty for a long moment, turning those thoughts over in his head, before blinking, turning back to Jack and realizing that he had never answered the other man’s question. 

Bitty shrugs, helpless.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says, and Jack looks angry, then heartbroken, emotions flashing across his face too quickly for Bitty to track. 

“I want you to tell me the truth. I want to tell me why you fucked him-” Jack’s voice breaks on the swear, and Bitty flinches away from the word. “I want to know why you picked _him_ –” his finger jabs viciously in Kent’s direction but he doesn’t bother to turn to look back at the other man, “–over anyone else. Were you just trying to hurt me as much as you could?”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you!” Bitty says, taking an instinctual step forwards before freezing at the look in Jack’s eyes. “It wasn’t like that, Jack, it was just… you were… and then I was so fucking lonely and miserable and I love you Jack–” it’s Bitty’s turn to have his voice break, and Jack looks away. “–I do, I love you Jack,” and he can feel the tears beginning to slide down his face. “But you wouldn’t talk to me, and you were just mad at me whenever I tried, and I was so scared of being an inconvenience and I know how much pressure you’re under. But I was so fucking lonely Jack.” Bitty’s voice hitches, but he keeps going. “I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t talk to anyone else. And I thought I could do it, I thought I could just keep smiling and get through it and eventually you’d come out and it would be fine. But you didn’t even… you couldn’t even say if you were ever going to come out and I just couldn’t live like that anymore.” Bitty’s voice tumbles to a stop, and he takes a deep breath, looking Jack in the eyes. Jack, who looks so confused and lost and angry and afraid. And Bitty continues. 

“Kent was there, the night I left yours. I didn’t mean for it to happen, I didn’t go looking for it and I didn’t plan for it but… he listened and he understood. He made the time for me, he never treated me like I was a distraction, and inconvenience, an annoyance.” Jack’s face crumples, and Bitty catches movement out of the corner of his eye, Shitty raising his hand to cover his mouth, eyes wide and wet as he watches the train crash unfolding in front of him. 

“I love you Bitty,” Jack said, “you were never an inconvenience, I don’t understand why you would say that.” 

“Because you made me feel like one Jack! You made me feel like I needed to be ashamed and alone all while being a distraction and annoyance to you and your game.”

“Why wouldn’t you fucking tell me that then?” Jack says, and suddenly the anger has returned, lacing his words with barbs. “Y’know, communicate with your boyfriend, with the man you supposedly love, instead of fucking off to Boston to get trashed and screw _my fucking ex_.”

“Jesus Jack,” Shitty says, but Jack isn’t listening to him, instead he’s frowning, looking off to the side. 

“You said the night you left mine,” he says, the softness of his voice violent in the stillness left behind by his shouts. “The night we played the Aces,” he looks up at Bitty, “was that when…” He trails off, and Bitty swallows, bracing himself. 

“That was the first time,” he confirms, and he doesn’t know how to describe the look on Jack’s face. 

“You’ve been fucking him for months?” Jack’s voice is a slurry of hurt and anger and Bitty feels like every word is stabbing into his skin. 

“Jack please,” Bitty says, looking up and blinking against the tears sliding down his face. He hears Dex say ‘what the _fuck_ ’ from behind him but he can’t pay attention to anyone else right now, everything narrowing to the look on Jack’s face. 

“Did you… why would you? Did you not…” Jack can’t seem to get a sentence out, and he curses in French, hands reaching up to grip his hair in frustration. Bitty can see that the knuckles of the hand he was hitting Kent with are already beginning to turning red and swell. 

“I never meant for this… I never wanted to hurt you,” he says. Jack laughs, a mean, bitter sound. 

“Bit fucking late for that thought, eh?” He snaps, and Bitty flinches. 

“Jack…” Shitty says again, and Jack again ignores him.

“Do you love him?” He asks, and Bitty swallows. 

“No,” he says. 

“Did you ever love me?” He asks, and he suddenly sounds so tired. Bitty lets out a gasping sob at his words, feeling like he’s been punched in the chest.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course I loved– love– you, I love you so much. But…” he starts, glancing over at Shitty, who looks torn between shock and horror, and Kent, who just looks afraid and sad. He sniffs, wiping his eyes, then straightens his back.

“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” he says to Jack, but he’s looking at Kent, who gives him a very small smile. “You can’t save people just by lovin’ them and love can’t save something that isn’t working,” he continues, turning back to Jack. “And we weren’t. We haven’t been for a long time.” 

“I love you,” Jack says, something desperate and broken in his voice. Bitty shakes his head. 

“I know,” he says, raising his arms, feeling helpless and adrift. “It isn’t enough Jack, you can’t… you’ve got your career and that’s great and I hope you get everything you dream of Jack, I do, I hope you achieve all your dreams, but I’m not sacrificing myself at the altar of your career.” Bitty doesn’t know if he’s said the right thing or the wrong thing when Jack’s face hardens, his spine straightening. 

“No one asked you to, Bittle.” 

“No,” Bitty says, suddenly so tired his bones ache with it. “No, I suppose not. I suppose I was too in love with the idea of happy ever after with a boy I loved and who loved me to understand that there were sacrifices involved I couldn’t make, not and stay whole.”

“You could have just ended it,” Jack says, and his voice is now as icy as Bitty has ever heard it, and it gives him the strength to meet Jack’s eyes as he says what he has to say next. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I could have.” Jack stares at him. 

“Who are you?” He says, and that hurts more than anything else that’s happened that day. Jack raises a shaky hand to grip his hair, then shakes his head, turning to Shitty. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, and Shitty hesitates for only a second before nodding, following as Jack turns to head back to his truck. Shitty shoots a look at Bitty that Bitty doesn’t understand before getting into the driver's seat and taking Jack away. Bitty manages to keep it together until the truck turns the corner, and then he collapses onto the lawn, sobs shuddering through his entire body. Kent’s at his side in a second, hand cautiously coming to rest on his shoulder. Chowder isn’t far behind though, the normally happy boy somber as he kneels next to Bitty. 

“Hey,” Nursey says softly from above them. “Maybe we should get inside.” Kent and Chowder nod, helping Bitty to stand and guiding him inside. Bitty is still crying too hard to be much help. Kent settles them on the couch, curling Bitty into his lap, and Bitty is too damn tired to even begin to object. He starts to say something about Kent needing to get on a flight, to deal with being outed, stuttering out words between sobs and gasps for breath, but Kent just tells him he isn’t going anywhere, and refuses to move. The boys hover awkwardly, off to the side, as if they can’t decide if they should stay or go. 

“Do we have to pick between mom and dad in the divorce?” Dex mutters, and that just makes Bitty cry harder. He hears Dex yelp, and he assumes Nursey must have smacked him because none of them say anything after that. God, _god_ , what if he loses all his friends over this? Will they want to stay friends with someone who cheated on his boyfriend, his boyfriend that they are _all_ friends with as well? For the first time, Bitty briefly regrets not making many close friends outside of the team. They'll choose Jack, they all will, they were all Jack's friends first–

On the other hand, does he really deserve to keep any of his friends, after what he’s done to Jack? 

Chowder is suddenly in front of him, and Bitty realizes he might have said some of that in between sobs because Chowder is looking at him with as serious an expression as he’s ever seen on that boy’s face. 

“You’re not going to lose us,” he says, “we’re _your_ friends.” 

“Yeah,” says Nursey, coming up beside him. “We’re your frogs. You’re not getting rid of us that easily.” Bitty knows they’re trying to be kind, to make him feel better, but it just makes him cry more. He wants to curl under his blankets for a hundred years. He wants to go back to last night and make sure they never leave the hotel room. He wants to go back to the day he met Kent and go home to Jack instead. He wants to go back and never have kissed Jack. 

Will Lardo forgive him, he wonders. Will Ransom? Holster? …. _Shitty?_

Eventually, Bitty cries himself out, and he lets Kent lead him upstairs and settle him into bed. He’s only half awake when Kent kisses the side of his head, tells him he has to fly back to Vegas but that he’ll call Bitty as soon as he lands. He plugs in Bitty's phone for him, setting it on the bedside table before leaving. Bitty stares at the flashing red light for a long moment after Kent leaves. He should turn his phone on, call his mama, check his messages, but Bitty feels like his bones are made of lead, can't work up the energy for any more confrontation today. Instead, he lies in his bed in the false-darkness of tightly drawn curtains, staring at the familiar room around him. He wonders how this became his life. 

In the end, Bitty knows he can’t blame anyone but himself. He can’t blame Kent, can’t blame Jack, can’t blame the fucking asshole that took those pictures of him and Kent. He made his choices. All that remains is to see if he can live with them. 

 

 

And maybe, just maybe, in the end, there is love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone for reading!! This was very hard to write, emotionally, and I’d like to thank all of you for your lovely comments. 
> 
> ETA: Since a couple of people have asked in the comments, no, I don't have any plans for a sequel. I _was_ originally planning on writing an epilogue, but I'm going to be honest with y'all, the last couple of chapters of this story were really hard for me to write, emotionally, and I need to be done with it, for now anyways. 
> 
> And tbh, whether it's because I'm a sadistic asshole or just a pretentious one, I love open endings (when I write them, not when other people write them), so. 
> 
> TL;DR: we'll see. No promises. 
> 
> For now, I'm gonna go write something happy.


End file.
